Full Circle
by GrayLadyOfTheSea
Summary: A retelling of TDKR events. Eight years after the events of TDK, the terrorist Bane arrives in Gotham City forcing its former hero Batman to resurface after taking the fall for Dent's crimes. A different take on Talia/ Bane/ Rã's past and Miranda/ Bruce relationship. Drama/Adventure/Romance. Full summary inside.
1. Presentation and author's notes

**Full ****Circle**** - ****A ****TDKR ****fanfiction**

= Disclaimer =

I don't own the Dark Knight Trilogy or Batman or any related character. That belongs to Bob Kane, DC Comics, and Warner Bros. Batman is a creation of Bob Kane and Bill Finger. The Dark Knight Trilogy is a creation of Christopher Nolan, Jonathan Nolan and David Goyer. The Official Novelization (whose structure serves as the basis for this fanfic) is authored by Greg Cox. This applies to all chapters.

= Author's Note =

Hello, everyone! I am a long time reader but this is my first fanfiction. English is not my native language, so my sincere apologies for possible errors of grammar, punctuation and spelling. Reviews (negatives and positives), suggestions and beta readers are very welcome. Hope you enjoy it.

= Full summary =

The history takes place eight years after the death of District Attorney Harvey ("Two-Face") Dent, the Joker's catastrophic scheme and the last appearance of Bruce Wayne as Batman. Though crime still exists, the streets themselves are actually safer. When a new foe emerges, and threatens to destroy Gotham, the Dark Knight resurfaces to protect a city that has branded him an enemy. In this new undertaking he will can count on the support of old and new allies, such as a reformed teenager troublemaker with a deeply ingrained sense of personal justice. No Catwoman or John Blake (at least as we know him).

= Main characters =

**Bruce ****Wayne****/ ****Batman****: **A billionaire socialite dedicated to protecting Gotham City from the criminal underworld. He's older and not in a great state right now. Wayne is now a virtual recluse, spending his later years living in bitter isolation at the east wing of the mansion with no companion but his faithful butler, Alfred. Unaware to what goes out of his mansion, he doesn't even check his business on a daily basis. The appearance of a new threat – a masked man called Bane – prompts Wayne to don the Batman costume once again and comes out of his retirement. Also, he needs to face a love from his past and learns that he might not be the last of his family's lineage.

**Miranda ****Tate****: **A Bruce's former girlfriend from his Princeton years, she's now a member of the Wayne Enterprises executive board who encourages a still-grieving Bruce Wayne to rejoin with society and continue his father's philanthropic works. Being the epitome of a woman scorned, over the years Miranda's bitterness turns into nostalgia, then hope, then disappointment. Now she is back on the life of Bruce Wayne, ready to take revenge on his greatest enemy ... or was her greatest love? However, when a teenager knocks on her door everything changes and her world is turned upside down.

**D****. ****J****. ****Blake****/ ****Robin****: **A 15-year-old orphan boy who channeled his anger and pain to protect the people around him. Endowed with numerous skills, he runs through the streets and rooftops of the city and makes nightly visits to wealthy homes in search of jewelry and valuable objects, in more of a Robin Hood way than an actual thief. His inspiration was originated by observing Batman himself. He is eager to find his true parents and along the narrative he's guided to his real inheritances. At first he's some kind of an associate of Bane who establishes a relationship with Batman that takes some of the somberness away from him. However after witnessing the brutality of Bane and his men and their intentions, he becomes an ally of the Dark Knight and searches for a way to aid the people of Gotham.

**Bane****: **A terrorist leader intent on destroying Gotham City. He was originally a member of the League of Shadows, before being excommunicated. He's the heir apparent of Rã's al Ghul and declares himself as the necessary evil seeking to restore balance when civilization becomes far too decadent. Bane represents fascism, since it is cruel and intends to control everyone on the island.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

**_Gotham City Courthouse, eight years ago..._**

"Harvey Dent was needed. He was everything Gotham's been crying out for."

Police Commissioner James Gordon stood before a podium in front of the courthouse where the late district attorney, supposedly martyred in the line of duty, had once fought for justice by prosecuting the city's powerful underworld kingpins. Somber dignitaries, including the mayor and city council, were on hand to honor Dent's memory. A black funeral wreath framed a large color portrait of a handsome man with wavy blond hair, a strong jaw, and a winning smile. Harvey Dent looked every bit a champion of justice, but Gordon had seen his other face. The commissioner hesitated briefly, before continuing.

"He was…a hero. Not the hero we deserved. The hero we needed. Nothing less than a knight, shining brightly even in Gotham's darkest hours. But I knew Harvey Dent. I was…his friend. And it will be a long time before someone inspires us the way he did." Gordon gathered his notes, anxious to get this over with and exit the podium.

"I believed in Harvey Dent."

The words caught in his throat. With any luck, people would think that he was simply overcome with emotion. God forbid they should guess what he was really feeling. That was a secret he shared with only one other man, a man who had sacrificed his own legend to preserve Dent's legacy and reputation. A man whose face Gordon had never seen. Gotham's true dark knight.

_Is he watching this_? Gordon wondered, his eyes searching the crowd. _Where is he now_?

_And will Gotham ever see him again_?

* * *

**_Somewhere in Eastern Europe, about six months ago_**

A land cruiser raced along a desert dirt mountain road. Inside the vehicle, nuclear physicist Dr. Leonid Pavel carefully watched the other passengers. Three hooded men were guarded by East European Militia. The soldiers were armed with automatic weapons. The silent figures with hoods over their heads sat rigidly, their hands cuffed, under the watchful gaze of the guards. A third militiaman was driving.

The middle-aged scientist was tense and anxious, feeling more like a prisoner than a passenger. _Am I doing the right thing_? he fretted. _What if I'm making a terrible mistake_?

The cruiser pulled up near an airstrip, the passengers were hustled out of the vehicle by guardians and were welcomed by a small reception committee consisting of which probably appeared to be CIA men.

When Dr. Pavel accepted the Americans' protection offer, he did not know he was embarking on a journey that would culminate to his own end. Soon the flight proved to be a spectacular plan to kidnap the poor scientist by a bunch of suicide mercenaries headed by the masked man – Bane. The CIA and special forces occupants plunged towards their own deaths when the airplane crashed with no survivors.

_The fire has risen._

* * *

_**Gotham City, about six months ago**_

_"Hello everybody! This is Gotham Cable News. My name's Summer Gleeson and this is our recent news... A renowned nuclear physicist had died in a plane crash accident with no survivors about two days ago. The wreckage of an unmarked turbojet airplane was found near Atlas mountains, on north-western of Africa. Other occupants of the aircraft were declared dead. Dr Leonid Pavel was an expert in nuclear fusion. His wife believes that his death is the result of an international conspiracy, as Pavel had asked for political asylum in the United States because he was frightened to live in his own country. The causes of the accident are still being investigated. Moving to weather forecast..."_

The TV was turned off abruptly. A mysterious figure stood up quietly amid the darkened room.

_The game has just begun._

* * *

**Author's note:** This is not an original chapter, but it is necessary to place the narrative. All credits goes to Greg Cox with regards to first part.

So, what do you guys think?


	3. Ch1On Thin Ice

_First of all, a big thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Second, I've decided to take the congressman sub-sub-plot out. However the role of Deputy Commissioner Peter Foley (played by Matthew Modine) still exists in this story, although he isn't a dumbass like in the film. He'll show up in the next chapters. Check my profile to see D. J. Blake visual as well as other actresses options to play Miranda Tate role._

_So here we go..._

* * *

**I - On Thin Ice**_**  
**_

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits, present time**_

A fashionable crowd filled the grounds of the Wayne estate. Elegant men and women, representing the cream of Gotham society, listened politely to the mayor's speech as they mingled and chatted amongst themselves. Small wonder Anthony Garcia had been re-elected to a third consecutive term. Behind him stood a large mounted photo of Dent.

Waiters wove through the party, offering finger foods, fresh drinks and refreshments. It was a beautiful fall night, and the weather was perfect. The mayor highlighted the importance of Harvey Dent Day and his ultimate sacrifice to made Gotham a safer place. He praised the Dent Act and was cheered with enthusiastic applause as he wrapped up. Finally he thanked Wayne Foundation for hosting the event although the host himself had not appeared.

High above, on a darkened balcony, a lone figure was watching.

Commissioner James Gordon sat alone at an open bar not far from the dais and started to examine some sheets of densely written paper when he was called to the stage by Garcia. The commissioner's heart sank, and he wished he had time to fortify himself with another stiff drink.

_Am I really going to go through with this?_ he asked himself. _After all these years_?

While he was making his way to the place where he would address the audience, Jim bumped into one of the waiters. A young lad with dark hair and bright blue eyes. The waiter freezed and then with a solemn expression apologized.

"I am so very sorry, sir. I didn't ..." He was cut off by Gordon who simply stated "That's ok, son." The young moved off.

_God, now they are employing people who barely left the diapers_! he thought to himself.

Applause took place as Gordon approached the mike. He looked down at his long speech and thought. _The truth...?_ suddenly images of Harvey Dent, face half destroyed, threatening his son with a handgun came to his mind. Bile rose to his throat and he surveyed the audience.

_Sometimes the truth isn't good enough, sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded._

Deciding, Gordon folded up his speech and stuffed the papers inside his jacket.

"Maybe right now all you need to know is that there are a thousand inmates in Blackgate Prison as a direct result of the Dent Act. These are violent criminals, essential cogs in the organized crime machine that terrorized Gotham for so long. Maybe, for now, all I should say about Harvey Dent's death is this...it has not been for nothing."

The figure on the balcony turned back into the mansion.

People clapped as Gordon left the mike. He approached Foley and exchanged a few words with him briefly then headed for the line of town cars in the gravel drive, feeling too miserable for lying to all those people.

* * *

Moments later in the mansion's kitchen, a small army of waiters, caterers, and cooks were deployed throughout the spacious area, working overtime to keep the guests lavishly fed and watered. The young waiter dived into the bustle of activity of Wayne Manor below the stairs. _The wealthy and powerful of Gotham_, he thought with a hint of sarcasm. _A perfect place for someone like me to be_.

Discarding his empty tray, blending in with the rest of the wait staff. Nobody gave him a second look. Then he overheard one of the maids.

"They say he never leaves the East Wing."

"I heard he had an accident - that he's disfigured," a second maid said.

The other maids signaled her to be quiet and all the chatter had died as a distinguished older gentleman has entered the kitchen.

_Nothing like a little gossip. No. Focus, DJ!_ he ordered himself. _Alfred Pennyworth_, he identified him. _The faithful family retainer_.

"Mr. Till, why are your people using the main stairs?" he said, addressing the chief caterer with a heavy British accent.

Alfred placed a glass of water on a tray next to a covered plate, then picked up the tray and looked around the chaotic kitchen.

"Where's Mrs. Bolton?"

Glaringly the waiter stepped forward.

"She's up at the bar, sir. Can I help?" the young man offered.

Alfred looked at the servant. He looked familiar. His features reminded Alfred of someone else he already had seen. _Those eyes_! the butler thought. He sighed, as though not entirely happy with the situation, but handed him an old-fashioned brass key and the tray.

"The East drawing room. Unlock the door, place the tray on the table, lock the door again. Nothing more," he instructed carefully.

The waiter nodded humbly, keeping his head down, and accepted the key.

He had a work to do, he reminded himself. Slipping out of the kitchen before anything could go awry, he made his way through the gigantic mansion toward the east wing, paying attention to every detail of all that opulence. That house's sector seemed to be completely empty. Not a soul seemed to inhabit that place. He came to a large oak door, unlocked it and entered the drawing room. It was dark and quiet. He placed the tray on the table. He looked at the inner door opposite. It was ajar...

He grinned mischievously.

How perfect was that?


	4. Ch2The Calm Before The Storm

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**II - The Calm Before The Storm**

"I'm sorry, Miss Tate, but I've tried. He won't see you."

Alfred lingered in the hallway to converse with the elegant woman who had attempted to enlist his assistance. Miranda Tate – a member of the board of directors of Wayne Enterprises – was probably the most attractive business executive Alfred had encountered in his many decades of service. In her thirties, she was gifted with an intoxicating beauty. Silky dark brown hair framed a face with delicate features but her striking gray-blue eyes demonstrated intelligence and determination. At the present time she didn't look nothing like the frail and lovely girl that appeared on the mansion doorsteps over fifteen years ago, seeking information about Bruce's whereabouts. Just like at that time, he also could not help her now.

"It's important, Mr. Pennyworth," she insisted. Her voice held a faint accent that, despite his extensive travels throughout Europe and elsewhere, he couldn't quite place.

"Mr. Wayne is as determined to ignore important things as trivial ones," he replied wryly.

"Don't take it personally, Miranda," they were interrupted by a voice in a mockery tone. They turned to see a man in his fifties. John Daggett – a business tycoon, who had inherited a thriving construction company – strolled up to them, looking smug and obnoxious — as usual.

"Everyone knows Wayne's holed up in there with eight-inch nails, peeing into Mason jars," he told her. Turning to Alfred, he added belatedly, "Good of you to let me on the grounds."

"The Dent Act is about Gotham," Alfred replied evenly. "Even you, Mr. Daggett." He nodded his head slowly toward Miranda.

"Miss Tate, always a pleasure," and then turned and walked off, but could not help overhearing their voices as they echoed down the hall. He stopped some distance away and turned to look.

"Why waste your time talking to the man who threw away your investment on some save-the-world vanity project? He can't help you get your money back. But I can," he suggested glibly, smiling.

"I could try explaining that a save-the-world project, vain or not, is worth investing in, whatever the return. I could try, Mr. Daggett, but you understand only money and the power you think it buys, so why waste my time, indeed?" she struck and walked away. Daggett watched her go.

_Bravo, Miss Tate_, Alfred thought. _Bravo_.

* * *

_Patience_, she reminded herself. She should be patient and should not show anything but indifference to _him_, even having pretending. Otherwise, she would put everything to lose. Otherwise, she would be lost. All she needed to do was disguise. Act as if her insides are in harmony with the calm, competence, loyalty, efficiency and discreet appearance that she struggled so much to appear. Miranda Tate acted this way since she was 5 years old. This was not supposed be different.

She could finally avenge his family! She would win the trust of Bruce Wayne and then reduce him to nothing but dust. Yet before that the key to her plan was on the hands of Alfred Pennyworth and Lucius Fox. She needed to gain the trust of both men. The first was the closest thing to a family that Bruce could have. The second had the privileged information she needed desperately.

Before Miranda could gather within the other guests, Alfred reached and led her to a more reserved space away from the bustle. He felt the need to apologize for what happened.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Tate," he said politely.

"It's all right, Alfred," she remarked with a gentle smile. "I've really enjoyed put Daggett in his place," she continued. "By the way, I'd prefer that you call me Miranda. We know each other long enough to dispense such formalities."

"Very well," Alfred agreed smiling.

"How he really is, Alfred?" she changed the subject. Her eyes were showing a mix of curiosity and concern.

He hesitated briefly before answering, "Well ... going well as far as possible."

"It must be very difficult for him," she paused briefly before continuing "All of this," she turned her head and gestured with her hands, indicating the party. "Rachel died around the same time Mr. Dent did, didn't she?"

"Exactly. We cared a lot about Miss Dawes, but it's been eight years. It's time for Master Bruce to move on," he said with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

"But it is not always that easy, isn't it?" she solemnly declared. "Sometimes, the pain of losing a loved one is like a wound that insists on remaining open," she was staring to nowhere, as if she was lost in her own memories.

"I thought that you Miss could be the solution to heal those wounds ..." he teased with a mischievous smile.

"Alfred!" Miranda exclaimed, caught off guard by the statement of the old butler. She was astonished at such an unexpected declaration. "You want to play cupid!" she joked in a conspiracy tone.

With a smirk on his face, he said "No one can accuse me that I have not tried. You two already had some kind of dating in your Princeton years." Alfred kept an uncertain smile.

The expression on Miranda's face changed. "That was long ago, Alfred," she said in a sad tone. "Things have changed ..." she seemed to be lost in memories again. "We changed ..." she paused and continued. "And even then, Rachel always held a special place in Bruce's heart," with a wince, Miranda was forced to think at the present time. "Nowadays, I am glad to know that we can be friends."

_Just a friend?_ she asked herself. _No. Bruce was much more than that. But everything we had was over a long time ago._

"Well, some day he will need to come out of the shell he built for himself and see that there's a whole world out there waiting for him, maybe even find a new love," the old man declared with hope.

Alfred examined the woman's semblant. But the eyes that stared at him right now did not belong to the innocent girl he had met so many years before, they contained a serious and solemn look, filled with understanding and kindness.

"The only woman who Bruce ever dared to love is the only one he can not have," she stated in a sad tone and quickly looked toward the other guests. "Excuse me, Alfred!" she concluded with an apologetic look and parted toward a group of people. Alfred nodded his head, kept watching her and stood digressing to himself.


	5. Ch3Alway From The Sun

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. The title of this chapter was inspired by the song "Away from the sun" from 3 Doors Down. Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

**III - Away From The Sun**

While the speeches were pronounced, Bruce Wayne observed everything from afar, in the shadows. He knew the same well-born citizens of this world, who welcomed him as one of their own, usually were as bloodthirsty as their counterparts in the streets.

This was the world into which he was born. Over the years he eliminated all the distractions it might offer him, using it only as an arena to develop contacts that could help him elsewhere. But sometimes he thought of the positive elements that he could have extracted from this life: stability, security, family. Basic but precious things that his neighbors possessed at ease.

He had sacrificed many things in order to act as Batman. His wealth bought his privacy, which was crucial to the survival of both identities. _But what kind of man I would have become if things had been different?_ he thought gloomily. _If, instead of using my fortune to fight crime, I allowed myself to be overwhelmed by it and all its temptations? If I really were what I seem to be to everybody else? _he mused to himself while he was limping toward his dinner.

Bruce had grown up in Wayne Manor, at least in its original incarnation, so he barely noticed the drawing room's sumptuous decor as he leaned heavily upon a single wooden cane, favoring his injured left leg. The sole remaining heir to the Wayne fortune was gaunt and pale. His temples were slightly gray. He lifted the lid of his dinner then freezed, hearing something. He slowly limps into the adjacent room. The sitting room...

* * *

The sitting room was just as expensively furnished as the rest of the mansion. Despite the urgency of his mission, he couldn't resist taking a moment to snoop around.

_Careful_, he warned herself. _Don't dawdle too long._

The young waiter looked at framed photographs of Rachel, Thomas and Martha Wayne. Some of them were half-burned. The row of pictures was like a miniature cemetery, complete with headstones.

He noticed an archery target, several arrows were stucked in it. Intrigued, he reached out to inspect one of them and then...WHAM! He immediately yanked his hand back as a new arrow thwacked into place, only inches from his fingers. An arrow stuck into the target - the laddie spined around, flustered.

Wayne was at the other end of the long room. He lowered a composite bow and picked up his cane.

"I'm…I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne," the waiter stammered sheepishly. He struck him as very young and embarrassed. "It is Mr. Wayne, isn't it?"

Wayne nodded gently and limped towards him.

"Although you don't have the long nails," he babbled nervously, "or facial scars..." his voice trailed off, embarrassed.

Bruce inspected the inquisitive intruder. He seemed very young. He didn't recognize him as one of the regular servants. Must be a temp taken on for tonight's festivities, he figured. Couldn't resist snooping around.

"Is that what they say about me?" Bruce asked. The youngster shrugged.

"It's just that...nobody sees you..." he remarked with innocence.

Analyzing the boy from head to toe, Wayne noted a stylish gold cufflink set with tiny little pearls – with the shape of a nest with tiny eggs – pinned through the collar of the elegant uniform the servant wore. The cufflink was being used as a kind of brooch. He approached slowly and nodded at his cufflink.

"That's an exquisite jewelry. Reminds me of one that belonged to my family. It can't be the same – that one is in this safe," he reached out with his cane to press open a panel on the bureau, revealing a safe door..." – which the manufacturer clearly explained is uncrackable." The door of the safe swung open with an awkward creak.

"Oops," the young man said. "No one told me it was supposed to be uncrackable."

Suddenly his whole attitude changed in an instant. He had played coy and now seemed to be more confident. Older.

"I'm afraid I can't let you take that," Bruce stated. The youngster smiled in response and moved towards him.

"Look, you wouldn't hit a kiddo any more than I would beat up a cripple." He kicked Wayne's cane from under him and smashed him down. "Of course, sometimes exceptions have to be made." He vaulted onto the bureau and upped to a high window.

"Goodnight, Mr. Wayne." He flipped backwards through the window as an excellent olympic gymnast.

_This boy got the nerve_. Bruce smiled before such audacity, then rocked forward on his good leg and rose with athletic grace.

He looked at the safe and noticed something. Powder...

* * *

_Fun's fun_, he thought, _but let's not overstay our welcome._

The party was still bubbling. Having made his escape from the building, he wasted no time to move toward the line of town cars. D.J. pulled off his jacket and hung it on his arm. He spotted a caterer delivery van together with a group of deliverymen.

"Hey guys," he announced "the boss wants us to go get more booze. Those rich people are like sponges."

Without waiting for an answer he slipped into the van and settled on the passenger seat. The group headed towards a storehouse of fine beverages. Once there, DJ quietly vanished into the night. Nobody would miss him, and even if they did, it would be very difficult to find him since he had submitted a different identity when he signed up for the apprentice work program. Richard John Grayson did not exist in the real world.

He had accomplished his mission and the money he would earn would serve to help his friend Colin and other children. When he arrived at the abandoned cinema – where he and other kids were living clandestinely – he would need to do a research on computer with the intention of finding out more information about the jewel he had filched. Why he possessed another one that matched with that?


	6. Ch4Night Shadows

_T__hank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**IV - Night Shadows**

_**East Wing, Wayne Manor**_

Moments later, Alfred entered the sitting room and found Wayne kneeling before the hidden safe. The butler wondered what his troubled employer was looking for.

"Miss Tate was asking to see you again," he said.

Bruce did not look up from the safe.

"She's very persistent."

"It's beyond my comprehension why do you keep avoiding talk to her. She's quite lovely," Alfred observed."I've thought you two were friends."

"It's complicated," he explained. For a split second sweet memories of the lovely Miranda came to his mind. There was a time when the two were young lovers. She was in love. He was ... lost and aimless. They had a good and special time together but he still had been cultivating a platonic passion for his childhood sweetheart – Rachel Dawes – and had hopes of a happy ending beside her. He still was not able to face Miranda. She had given him everything and he just turned his back on her and left without giving further explanations.

Alfred sighed. _I'm sorry, Miss Tate_, he thought. _I've tried._

He turned his attention to his employer's current preoccupation.

"What are you doing?"

"Examining print dust," Bruce said tersely. "We've been robbed."

Alfred was startled by the news. Wayne Manor's security was state-of-the-art, and then some. They had never been burgled before.

"And this is your idea of raising the alarm?" he asked. Wayne just shrugged.

"He took the bird's nest cufflink," he answered. "Tracking device and all."

Alfred recalled the precautions Bruce had taken to protect his family jewels, particularly those possessing sentimental value. The bird's nest was in the family for generations and formed a single piece with a pendant shaped like a bird - a robin. The pendant itself was studded with precious stones and its whereabouts was unknown. There was an old story involving two lovers who were separated by circumstances and each got a piece of the jewelry. A member of the Wayne family had bought the golden bird's nest many years ago at an auction house. It would be tragic if it was not recovered. Then he realized…

"He? Do you already have a suspect, sir?" he asked.

"One of the servants." Bruce gave Alfred a wry look. "Perhaps you should stop letting them into this side of the house."

"Perhaps you should learn to make your own bed, then." He bent to look over Bruce's shoulder. "Why are you dusting for prints?"

"I'm not," Bruce said. "He was."

* * *

_**Major Crimes Unit Rooftops, Gotham City**_

The rooftop of police headquarters had become Commissioner Gordon's personal refuge, away from the non stop phone calls, emails, faxes, meetings, and bureaucracy that came with the job. He liked to think he did his best detective work here, where he could actually concentrate without being interrupted – at least some of the time. He brought a stack of files and settled, ready to read. Next to him was a rusty, broken searchlight.

On clear nights like this one, the roof offered a good view of midtown, the bridges, and the adjoining islands. The city appeared quiet, but Gordon knew that looks could be deceptive. Who knew what was going on behind closed doors and in the murky back alleys? Crime never slept, so he couldn't afford to, either.

Especially now that he didn't have a certain Dark Knight backing him up.

A certain nostalgia took hold of his being and he remembered that the fulfillment of his duty to serve and protect had cost him his family, his marriage and almost the life of his son. Suddenly, Gordon has had interrupted his reverie...

"Commissioner?" Peter Foley – Deputy Police Commissioner – joined him on the rooftop. He approached Gordon and said with a concerned look. "I didn't want to bother you up here, but we have a situation."

Gordon glanced up from the reports.

"What's the problem, Foley?"

"A sewage treatment plant's supervisor has been calling. A body was found at a sewage effluent," he declared. "DWP staff wanna know what to do."

Gordon took the news with surprise. The night seemed so calm...

"Send detectives Patton and Allen, and a CSI team to the location immediately," he ordered.

"That's what I thought," he answered. "Do you think we are at war again?"

"I don't know," Gordon replied calmly. He wished they were not, but instinct told him otherwise.

"For the last year we've only logged a few tens arrests. When you and Dent cleaned the streets you cleaned 'em good. I've thought pretty soon we'll be chasing overdue library books," Foley added with a light touch.

Gordon smiled at this. Foley looked at his stack of files and prior to turn and walk away, he said with a little bit of hesitation:

"It's that night. This night, eight years ago. The night Dent died."

"What about it?" Gordon asked nonchalant.

"The last confirmed sighting of the Batman. He murders those people, takes out two SWAT teams, breaks Dent's neck...then just vanishes?"

"Where you're going with this, Peter?"

Foley shifted uneasily. Then looked at Gordon.

"Mayor Garcia took a hard stance against Batman years ago, announcing he was forming a police task force to apprehend him and assigning you to head it. Specialists and forensic psychiatrists were hired to draw the profile of his real identity, but you declared it was a dead-end and convinced the mayor to not spend taxpayer money with that," he paused. "Don't you want to know who he was?" Foley asked.

Gordon turned to look at the broken searchlight. He brushed his fingers across its rusted shell.

"I know exactly who he was," he stated and turned to Foley. "He was Batman. Now we have a work to do."

Gordon walked past Foley and headed for the stairs.

"Let's go see about the sewage's dead body," he declared putting an end to that conversation.


	7. Ch5Recalled To Life

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. The case of Cardinal O'Fallon's kidnapping is __referred in "Batman: Gotham Knight" animated film ( wiki/Batman:_Gotham_Knight)._

* * *

**V - Recalled To Life**

_**East Wing, Wayne Manor**_

The next morning Alfred took a tray with breakfast into Bruce's bedroom. To his surprise, the bed was empty and made. In fact, it appeared as if it had not been slept in at all.

"Master Bruce?"

No answer. Puzzled, he explored the east wing, but found no sign of his elusive employer. He headed to the studio and hit three notes on the piano. A wooden bookcase opened, exposing a hidden elevator. He took the elevator and descended into the caverns beneath Wayne Manor.

Down there, he found Bruce in front of a modern and stylish computer station. A large, high-definition flat screen monitor dominated the wall before him. Seven linked Cray supercomputers hummed softly, providing him with enough data storage and computing power to put the NSA to shame. Bruce's gaze was glued to the screen even as his fingers danced over the keyboard. His cane rested against his seat.

He did not shift his attention as Alfred came up behind him.

"You haven't been down here for a long time," the butler observed.

"Just trying to find out more about our jewel thief," his employer replied. "I ran his prints from the photos he handled." With that, he pulled up a mug shot. The face in the photo belonged to a scowling armed robbery suspect with a receding hairline, double chins, and a bad case of five o'clock shadow. It bore little resemblance to the larcenous "young waiter" they had briefly encountered the night before.

"He was wearing someone else's fingerprints," Bruce explained, with a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. "He's good."

"That he may be," Alfred conceded. "But we still have a trace on the jewel."

"Yes, we do, so I cross-referenced the address he went back to, with the police data on recent high-end B-and-Es."

_Breaking and entering_, Alfred translated mentally.

Bruce hit another key and a new photo appeared. This time Alfred recognized the young lad, although he appeared rather less demure than he remembered. What appeared to be a criminal record photo captured a very young face graced with a stern look, striking blue eyes and sleek dark brown hair.

"Damian John Blake," Bruce said. "No convictions yet, but the databases are full close calls, tips from fences."

A montage of newspaper headlines and data records flashed across the screen. Alfred tried to follow all that information. The boy was just fifteen and had already spent some time at Gotham City's youthful reformatory. _Oh, My Lord!_ Six months incarcerated due to his actions as hacker and his involvement in petty thievery and scams.

There was a psychological evaluation sheet. The boy was an orphan. Twice. He had been adopted by the Blakes when he was a newborn and then, at the age of six, his mother Mary Blake had passed way. Her husband John had joined her three years later. The boy had spend some time with family friends from Haley Circus. Apparently Mary and John were circus performers – acrobats. He also had spent some time in a Catholic orphanage for boys, which he eventually ran off. The child service protection was on his trail.

According to the evaluation, despite showing traits of juvenile rebellion and impatience the boy was a genius. He had eidetic memory, was a technical expert in computer and basic engineering, and also was a great acrobat and olympic gymnast. _Impressive! _Alfred thought.

The headlines were announcing a series of luxury homes robberies. The stolen pieces were mostly jewelry. The thief left just few clues behind. _Why someone so young and talented was doing a career as a criminal?_

Alfred recognized the same bold spirit of Bruce in that boy. The string of high-profile heists had been notable for their daring and execution. He had thought Wayne Manor was burglar-proof, but this Mister Blake had proven otherwise.

"He's good," Bruce repeated, "but the ground is sinking beneath his feet."

"We should send the police before he sells the golden nest."

"He won't," Bruce objected. "He likes them too much. It's like a prize to him. And it wasn't what he was after."

Alfred didn't understand.

"What was he after?" Alfred asked a little bit confused.

"My fingerprints", Bruce stated. "There was printer toner mixed with graphite on the safe. Gives you a good pull, and it's untraceable."

"Fascinating," Alfred said dryly. "Maybe you should exchange notes over coffee."

Bruce finally looked away from the screen.

"Now you're wanting me to become associated with a jewel thief?"

"At this point, sir, I would you become associated with a chimpanzee if I thought it would bring you back into the world."

Bruce's expression darkened.

"There's nothing out there for me."

"And that's the problem. You hung up the cape and cowl, but never moved on. You won't get out there and find a life. Find someone..."

"I did find someone, Alfred." Bruce said bitter. The memory of Rachel Dawes hung over him like a shroud.

"I know," Alfred said gently. "And then you lost them. That's part of living, sir. But you're not living – you're waiting. Hoping for things to go bad again."

Wayne said nothing.

"Remember when you left Gotham?" Alfred persisted. "Before all this. Before Batman. Seven years you were gone. Seven years I waited. Hoping that you wouldn't come back."

Wayne looked at Alfred. Not understanding.

"Every year I took my holiday," Alfred said, trying to explain. "I'd go to Florence. There's a café by the Arno... Any fine evening I would sit there and order a Fernet Branca..."

Recollections had taken over the mind of Alfred. He was sitting in a tave sipping his drink...

"I had a fantasy. I liked to imagine that one day I'd look across the tables, and see you. Sitting there with your wife. Perhaps some kids. You wouldn't say anything to me, or me to you, but we'd both know...that you'd made it. That you were happy."

He kept saying as he remembered spotting a couple at another table. He had looked closer, hopeful. But they had been strangers. He vividly recalled the bitter disappointment he had felt at that moment.

"I never wanted you to come back to Gotham," he confessed. "I knew there was nothing there for you but pain and tragedy, and I wanted more for you than that. I still do."

With this last statement, Alfred left Wayne to his cave and his bats.

* * *

_**Gotham City Morgue, Gotham City**_

Commissioner Gordon, Detectives Allen and Patton and Dr. Gilbert met in an autopsy room. Over a surgical table was a lifeless body of a teenage boy, seventeen years old at most.

"According DWP man, some people washed up a couple times a month. More when it gets colder – homeless sheltering in the tunnels. They had to pull him to clear the basin, but other than that they didn't touch him..." Detective Allen stated.

_Oh crap_, Gordon thought. _He was just a boy_.

"Name's Jimmy," Patton said. "James Russell. He's from St. Swithin's, a home for orphan boys. Father Reilly, the priest in charge said Jimmy hadn't had been there for months," he paused. "He had aged out. Reilly said they hadn't have the resources to keep on boys after sixteen."

"I've thought the Wayne Foundation gives money for that," Gordon commented.

Patton shook his head.

"Not for two years now."

"He has a brother," Allen declared while he was reviewing his notes. "Mark is his name."

"What was he doing in tunnels?" the commissioner asked.

"Lots of guys been going down the tunnels when they age out," detective Allen said flatly. "Say they can live down there. Say there's work down there."

Gordon scratched his head.

"What kinds of work someone gonna find in the sewers?"

"More than they can find up here, I guess."

Gordon didn't like the sound of that.

After wrapping things up with the other men Gordon got in his car and remembered the case of Cardinal O'Fallon's kidnapping. Homeless people were living in the city undergrounds. At that time he was helped by his dark ally. Feeling sick to his stomach, Gordon decided to go further investigate this new case.


	8. Ch6Underground Army

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

_I've pictured in my mind DJ's escape moves like the same way Connor Kenway (the protagonist of the most recent chapter of Assassin's Creed) does in the game. Here is the link to the video: tinyurl 8gvc6ry _(without spaces)_. Also he's in his civil clothes (see them in my profile)._

* * *

**VI - Underground Army**

_**Dive Bar, East End, Gotham City**_

The bar was a real dive, like so many others in this part of Gotham. It was full of people that matched the place. A television, its volume muted, was mounted over the grimy mirror behind the bar. Nobody was paying it much attention.

Damian boldly walked in and gave a quick glare to the TV screen and saw the news was talking about the dead boy who had been found in the sewers of the city.

_Jimmy Russell_, he thought. He knew Jimmy from St. Swithin's Home for Boys. Like him, Jimmy had been involved with the wrong people. Now he was dead. Is this the same fate that awaited him? He conjectured to himself thoughtfully while he was looking for the man that hired him.

_No,_ he thought. He was smarter.

Ordinarily, Damian wouldn't be caught dead in a sleazy gin mill like this, but he had important business to conduct. He finally found a neatly dressed man – Stryver – and walked over to the table where he sat.

"You brought the task?" Stryver asked anxiously.

Damian handed an envelope to him.

"Right hand. No partials," he confirmed.

Stryver slided a transparency out of the envelope and holded it up to the light. Four perfect fingerprint transfers. Then he looked back at the teenager.

"Very nice," he pronounced with a smirk then pocketed the envelope.

"Not so fast, cupcake," he objected. "You got something for me?"

"Oh, yes."

He signaled a thug, who moved to lock the front door. Another bruiser joined them at the table. A gun bulged beneath his cheap sports jacket. He glowered at Damian in an obvious attempt at intimidation.

He wasn't impressed – or surprised.

"I don't know what you're going to do with Wayne's prints," he said, "but I'm guessing you'll need his thumb."

Stryver blinked in surprise. Flummoxed, he took out the merchandise and checked it again. His reaction was priceless.

"You don't count so well, huh?" Damian added.

"I count fine," Stryver snarled. He nodded at his flunky, who drew his gun and pressed it against the boy's head. "In fact, I'm counting to ten right now."

They faced off across the table. The thug cocked his gun. Nobody in the bar showed a hint of coming to his rescue.

"Okay, okay."

Damian reached for his backpack, only to be blocked by the bruiser, who insisted on reaching in and taking out the teen's phone himself. He slid it across the table to his boss.

"My friend is waiting outside," he promised. "Just hit 'send.'"

Stryver toyed with the phone, eyeing him suspiciously, before finally doing as the young man instructed. Then they waited in silence. Within minutes, there was a knock at the door. The goon at the door peered out cautiously before unlocking it to admit a petite blonde who looked like she belonged in high school. Flaxen curls tumbled past her slight shoulders. She was dressed like an ordinary schoolgirl. Hazel eyes lit up as she spotted Damian at the table. She scampered over and pulled out an envelope.

A tense hush fell over everyone, like the calm before a storm. The girl glanced around cluelessly.

"Place is a little dead," Steph said as Damian took the envelope.

"It will liven up in a minute, trust me."

Stephanie Brown picked up on the tension in the room.

"Everything okay?"

"Great," Damian lied. "See you later."

To his relief, Stryver let the girl depart, perhaps to avoid any unnecessary complications. Or maybe he just had a soft spot for blondes. Taking the envelope from Damian, he inspected a second transparency. This one bore the flawless image of a single thumbprint.

He nodded in satisfaction.

"It would have been a lot easier," Damian pointed out, "to just give me what we agreed on."

Stryver shook his head.

"We can't have any loose ends." He looked carefully over him. "And, believe me, no one is going to miss you."

"No," Damian agreed. "But that old dead acquaintance over there?" He cocked his head toward the TV, a news update flashed across the screen of the muted television set. _Excellent! Just in time,_ he thought. A headline scrolled with news about a dead teenager whose body was found in the sewers.

Stryver's startled gaze darted between the TV and Damian, puzzled.

"Every cop in the city's investigating about his death," he paused and then added "and you did just use his cell phone."

"I don't know if you knew, but he used to come to this area," he added smiling.

Stryver stared in horror at the phone in his hand. He hastily wiped it down with a silk handkerchief, even as – all at once – the entire Gotham City Police Department seemed to converge upon the bar. Sirens blared outside. Spinning red gumball lights could be glimpsed through the drawn window shades.

Brakes squealed.

Boots pounded toward the door.

Stryver's face blanched. He glanced toward the window. Clearly, this wasn't part of his plan.

Damian seized the moment. Moving quickly, he cracked Stryver's head against the table, then grabbed the big bruiser's gun hand and flipped over the table with grace and dexterity. Before the baffled thug even knew what was happening, he used his gun and opened fire on the other hoods.

Some henchmen yelped and dropped to the floor. It was not like him to use firearms but the ends justified means.

Damian pistol-whipped the gunman, knocking him senseless, and dived beneath the table. He got his backpack and crawled to the back door avoiding being hit by the shots of other henchmen. Then he reached the exit and ran as fast as he could. Just in time…

A SWAT team battered down the door. They fanned out through the bar and subdued the rest of the henchmen. They were surrounding the perimeter and observed a hooded guy who was climbing a emergency ladder trying to hit the rooftops.

"Freeze," Damian heard from not so far. But he ignored the warning and proceeded as fast as he could. Sensing adrenalin running through his veins, he ran and jumped from one roof to another, using parkour moves and techniques, until outwit the cops or thugs.

He only stopped when he got a dark alley out of reach of them.

* * *

_**On an alley behind a Dive Bar, East End, Gotham City**_

The SWATs chased the remaining thugs back through the bar and out into the back alley. The remaining thugs turned and opened up on the SWATs with automatic weapons. The SWATs returned fire. The thugs laid down cover fire, then raced around a corner into a smaller passage.

A cop car pulled up, blocking the mouth of the alley and Commissioner Gordon jumped out with his gun drawn.

The SWATs approached the passage, massing on both corners tactically. The two corner SWATs exchanged hand signals, counting down. The they rounded the corner, aiming low and high. The passage was empty.

The SWATs covered a fire escape, but Gordon spotted at once.

"Manhole," he shouted.

A cast-iron manhole cover, about midway down the passage, appeared slightly off-kilter. Responding to Gordon's summons, two armored SWAT troopers wrenched the heavy disk free and rolled it aside, exposing a deep, shadowy cavity. Gordon snatched a flashlight from the nearest SWAT guy.

When Gordon and a couple of SWATs down the manhole, they had no idea this was a trap. A gunfire took place in the sewers and the SWATs were blasted by concrete walls. Jim was captured by an underground army and was brought up to its leader – a masked man called Bane. He was injured and frisked. Bane took a sheaf of folded papers from his jacket. It was Gordon's never pronounced speech. When Bane attempted to read, Gordon glimpsed the right opportunity and rolled off the steps, dropping into the rushing flow of water. Gunshots rang out...

* * *

_**Water Treatment Facility, Gotham City**_

Foley and his men were tracking down every catchment basin with the help of DWP guys. Everything seemed so crazy. In an instant they were investigating a phone call that could clarify the death of a boy. The next moment they were rummaging the sewage outputs searching for Gordon and a couple of SWATs.

He came out to a specific catchment basin and spotted something stucked up against the grille. He thrusted his hand into the raging waters. Gordon was there, alive. Foley pulled him up onto the concrete, hoisted him up and hurried to the cops to lead the commissionaire to a hospital.


	9. Ch7The Good Thief

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

_I've imagined the bird's nest jewelry as something like this: ** tinyurl 92m7c3e**_

_or like this: ** tinyurl 9j96hqf**  
_

_The robin pendant could be like this: ** tinyurl 8pvydym**  
_

* * *

**VII - The Good Thief**

_**Dream Flashback, Gotham City, nine years ago**_

_The boy remained static, one hand clutching his father's hand and the other lying along his body, the fist clenched rigidly. The storm was lashing the umbrella his father held over their heads, while the muffled sound of wet soil covering the coffin mingled with the vicar's words. _

_The boy clenched his teeth forcing himself not to tremble. He would not cry. He was proud to be part of the group of adults who were attending the funeral ceremony. Since he was considered old enough to be there he would not ruin it breaking into tears. However what remained of childlike in his inner wanted to turn around and run home to hide his face and, sobbing, vent his pain._

_"From dust we came and to dust we shall return ..." _

_The boy dared lift his face to look at his father whose features seemed to be carved in stone. He noticed no tears, nothing betrayed the thoughts or feelings of the man, but his big strong hand squeezed his son's firmly. _

_The boy took a deep breath and tried to control himself. His father was strong and he also would be. Men do not cry. With a furtive gesture, he wiped away the tears that insisted on falling over his face. _

_The vicar finished his reading and took a step forward in order to address some consolation words to those present. Then the boy's father turned around and took him away from the grave of the woman who had been the safe haven of their lives._

* * *

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City, present time **_

Damian woke up the next morning with a jolt. It had been just a bad dream. Relieved, he realized he had off completely last night. He got out of bed and made an inspection on his own body finding some scratches and bruises. He was in a desperate need of a shower and to heal his aching body.

Doing a recap of last night's events, he realized he had been overthrown. His ass was saved thanks to Jimmy's cellphone which some kids had filched from his corpse. It was grotesque but was very useful. Stryver did not pay all the money they had agreed to trade. An advance payment had been made but still would not cover the expenses for what he had in mind. He needed the money to help a friend – Colin Wilkes, a twelve year old boy whose father was a violent abuser. His mother was an alcoholic drunk who did not give a damn for her kid. Without reason to stay at home, he had run away and joined the group of children who lived in the abandoned theater. However a new confrontation with his father and another beating round had left extremely serious consequences. Now Colin was bound to a wheelchair and needing special medical care for his entire life.

The Monarch Theatre was abandoned for years and became the refuge of many homeless people. Now belonged only to Damian and his friends and he even had managed to buy the place using money from their thefts and scams and also a fake identity - Jason Todd, one of his many aliases. They called themselves 'Lost Boys' as the characters in J. M. Barrie's play _Peter Pan_ and and had formed a sort of brotherhood where they helped each other.

Damian was the protector and leader of the group and practiced luxury homes burglaries to support the other abandoned children. Most of them were already teenagers. Some of them were remnants from St. Swithin's Home For Boys – Damian himself belonged to that category. Some of them managed to attend a regular school.

As his parents had always been touring and he had been considered a prodigy child, Damian had attended a distance special school till about a year ago. He had a tough time at the reformatory. Six months of suffering that made him stronger. The first days are hard, scary and lonely but he soon had learned how to defend against bullies. A man named Richard Dragon, who had been working there as a volunteer, had taught him how to defend himself. Despite being in a wheelchair, Dragon owned a martial arts academy and taught some kids for free.

Damian's inspiration to become this kind of juvenile Robin Hood had originated to observe the Batman himself – once the Gotham City's champion that had fallen into obscurity in the last eight years. He even had envisioned a uniform with a hood and a goggle mask.

Deep in his heart, Damian knew he could not live like that way forever. He needed a path.

Sometimes he just wanted to believe that his real parents loved him very much and they would live a happy life. Would they still alive?

Damian had learned he had been adopted from a very young age. On her deathbed, Mary Blake had told him that his biological mother or father had given up him to St. Swithin's Home For Boys when he was a newborn. The only tangible clue to his real parents had been a necklace that had been left with him when he had been abandoned at birth. The necklace had a pendant with a bird – a robin – and according to his research on internet the necklace was paired with the jewelry he had stolen from Wayne Manor. In fact, the bird dovetailed over the golden nest. Now he had found one half of the jewelry piece, he needed to know who had owned the other.

It was time for some detective work. Maybe with the help of his hacking skills, he was able to access his records at the orphanage and find out the possible whereabouts of his biological mother.

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Bruce was having breakfast in pantry attached to the mansion's main kitchen. This was atypical. Lately he would rather have his meals in his own quarters. While Alfred was serving him a mouth watering breakfast, he was following the headlines of a morning news showing on a flat screen television installed at one wall of the room. Suddenly some news left him alert and with a sour taste in his mouth...

"_Good morning, everyone. Police Commissioner James Gordon has been hospitalized in serious condition since last dawn. He was admitted to Gotham General with gunshot injuries. The GCPD's PR didn't provide further information about the event, limiting only to inform the veteran police officer has been shot during the fulfillment of his duty. According to an informant who declined to be identified, Gordon chased a gunman down into the sewers while he was investigating the death of a teenage boy who was found dead at a sewage treatment plant. When he was pulled out he was babbling about an underground army and a masked man called 'Bane'. When asked about the veracity of these facts, Deputy Police Commissioner Peter Foley said with humor that Gordon must have seen some giant alligators down there too._

_The boy, whose death's cause has not yet been announced, was seventeen. His name was James Russell and he was a former resident of St. Swithin's Home for Boys. Also according to our informant the boy had aged out and the institution could no longer host him because they had no resources to do it. So he became a homeless and..._"

Bruce could not pay attention to anything else. Gordon had been shot... A homeless teenager had been found dead... A boy from St. Swithin's... A nuts called Bane with an army? He stared at the television and was lost in his thoughts.

"I've thought St. Swithin's was one of the many institutions aided by Wayne Foundation," he said as an unasked question to Alfred.

"It used to be, sir," Alfred answered calmly.

"Used to? Why did the Wayne Foundation stop funding the boys' home?"

"The Foundation is funded from the profits of Wayne Enterprises," the older man reminded him. "There have to be some."

Bruce's expression fell. Recent years had taken their toll on the company Bruce's ancestors had founded, but he hadn't realized that Wayne Enterprises' financial reverses had hurt the charities that depended on its largesse. He rebuked himself for not paying closer attention.

"Time to talk to Mr. Fox, I think," Bruce declared and got up from his chair so he could be prepared to leave. He decided to drive himself to the Wayne Enterprises' headquarters and pay a visit to Fox personally. But before he could leave he asked Alfred to make him an appointment at the same hospital Jim Gordon was in and also requested information about that 'Bane' guy.

Alfred provided him with a couple of info from some databases. He discovered Bane was a mercenary and had no other known name. He had never been seen or photographed without a mask. He and his men were behind a coup in West Africa that secured mining operations for John Daggett. Lastly, Alfred promised to keep digging. He was thrilled that Bruce finally had got out and would see the sunlight again, but he was less excited by his employer's first request.


	10. Ch8The Ice Princess

_1) Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers; 2) Sorry for possible language errors – English isn't my native language; 3) I've been having a hard time with the internet links I've posted. FF site don't allow us to put urls, so if you want to see the links, you should add "dot com slash" after "tinyurl" and then after "slash" add the combination of numbers and letters appearing on the link, all without spaces; 4) FF's doc manager has been giving some headache, I've often lost some texts formatting and adjustments; 5) I really hope this chapter pleases the fans of Miranda Tate. She will have more prominence from the second half of the story. Notice that until now I've avoided using her "real name", trying to keep the mystery on her true identity; 6) To fit into the story, Tate's origin/ motivations were modified but they still hold characteristics of her counterpart both from film and comics. She isn't unrecognizable and I've tried to keep most of what I consider as the basic psychological characteristics of her character (especially from classical comics); 7) This chapter mentions an attempt to sexual violence, so be warned._

_And here we go..._

* * *

**VIII - The Ice Princess**

_**Top floor of Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

The huge boardroom was completely empty. Only a lonely figure was standing in front of large windows, looking towards the city's tall skyscrapers. Miranda Tate was waiting patiently for a private word with Lucius Fox. His personal assistant said he would be a bit late due some urgent commitments.

While looking through the large glass panel, she felt suffocated. She missed the vastness of the cold mountains. She missed the place where she had born and lived until she was five years old, until the day the two people who had loved her most had been ripped away from her without mercy or pity. She had watched helplessly as their modest home had been on fire and everything destroyed.

Fox's delay gave her a little time to reflect. Memories took over her thoughts. Her mother's fondlings and the blissful smile of her father, when contemplating her, were her most remote memories. Her true mother had been gifted with great character's strength and had faced adversity with courage. Her real father had done everything to provide, even if precariously, the livelihood of his family. However, humble but happy times had given rise to dark ones.

Miranda closed her eyes, took a deep breath and remembered the last words of her mother.

_**Flashback**_

_The mother kneeled down next to her daughter and asked her in a urgency's tone: "You understand what to do?"_

_"Yes," the young girl replied._

_"Tell me. Tell me everything I've told you," the mother urged._

_"When you leave, I will close the door and lock it. I will then slide my chair underneath the door knob," the little girl said proudly._

_"And..." her mother insisted._

_"I will not open the door, again"_

_"But what if it's me? What if you hear me scream outside?" the mother asked restless and scared._

_The daughter stared at her mother._

_"I will not open the door. If they come after me I will escape through the back window and run away toward the forest," the young girl confirmed. Her mother hugged her, but she did not hug back._

_"You are a brave girl," the mother declared with unescaped tears building in her eyes._

_"You should go now. I can hear them," the child said with a little tremble in her voice. She was about to lose her composure and collapse into tears. But she need to remain strong for both their sakes._

_"I will find you when this is over. I promise. Don't be afraid." Then the young woman stood up and headed to the room door._

_"I'm not afraid. I will find you"_

_**End of flashback**_

They had been never able to meet again. On that fateful morning, her mother had died and her father had been taken prisoner. They would only see each other again many years later.

During that interim, she had suffered all kinds of torments and learned that to survive she had to adapt always and always.

She had been discovered days after the incident, in the middle of a tundra forest around Caux, by Mr. Tate and some friends who had been trekking through the region. Caux was a small village on top of a mountain over Lake Geneva, Switzerland. The Tates had been living in Montreux and belonged to a group of distinguished and wealth families of the region. The couple had had only one son already in his early teens.

Mr. Tate had always desired to have a daughter, but the idea had not been very pleasing by Mrs. Tate. He had been a renowned British diplomat who had spent most of the time traveling and busy with his business, and had been a respected man thanks to his integrity and dedication.

Mrs. Tate had been the daughter of a banker, created for the role of a wealthy man's wife, and had owned a proud and haughty nature. She had not liked to welcome the foundling little girl and had treated her with dismay.

A silent and at first solitary child, Miranda – as the Tates renamed her – had been resented by both Mrs. Tate and her son, Victor, who had been seeing her as an interloper who had stolen his father's affection.

In the absence of Mr. Tate, Mrs. Tate had treated Miranda worse than a servant and had discouraged and at times had forbidden his son from associating with her. She and Victor had been abusive to Miranda, physically and emotionally. Due to his commitments, Mr. Tate had been unaware of the situation.

One day, about a year Miranda had been raised by the Tate family, she had been brutally attacked by Victor and, when had been trying to get rid of his sexual assault, she seriously injured him. Mrs. Tate had been deeply ashamed and disturbed by the attitude of her perverted son, but had punished Miranda for what had happened. The six year old girl had been locked in a spare room without food and drink for two days. When she had been finally released, Mrs. Tate had sent Miranda to attend a severe and private boarding school for girls, alleging to her husband it was about time the girl should had been schooling. Mr. Tate had never known what had prompted his wife to take that initiative.

Thanks to her intelligence and kindness, Miranda quickly had become popular and well-liked by the other students and teachers. However, four years later, upon Mr. Tate's death and their inheritance of the estate and money, Mrs. Tate and her son had proceeded to stop paying the tuition fees.

The incident had forced the school's headmistress to make a deal with Miranda, she would take the classes in exchange for her work as a servant. Humiliated, but not been wishing to come back to the Tates' house, she had accepted the deal.

When she had been thirteen years old, a mysterious man had appeared at school claiming to be Miranda's new tutor and an old friend of her father. He had taken her away from Switzerland and she only had come back years later to claim her inheritance as the sole heir of the Tate's Estate.

All those trials and tribulations had created Miranda's lifelong anger and resentment. At the age of eighteen, she had been accepted at Princeton University and soon proved to be a diligent and smart student. Due to her almost unsociable behavior and the fact of having very few friends she had been nicknamed as _Ice Princess_.

A certain day she had met Gotham City's golden boy – Bruce Wayne. He had been a junior student who had had a very similar nature to Miranda's. They soon had realized they had had a lot in common – both had wanted to fix the world – and had become friends, then lovers. He had kept his grades well enough to continue to be enrolled, but never had worked harder than he had to, despite his intellect. Condoled by his constant pain and anger, she had advised him to find a path in his life and channeling all his anguish to it.

She never had thought he would follow her advice literally and would leave without even saying goodbye. Frustrated, she had suffered a lot, verifying too late that the man she had loved had been unworthy of her affection. Now she would have the opportunity to return the favor.

"Sorry for standing up, Miss Tate," Fox said, entering the room and interrupting her thoughts.

Miranda turned to him immediately trying to hide her shock. She smiled slightly and walked over towards the CEO.

"Hello, Mr. Fox."

He pulled out a chair from the table and motioned her to sit down in it.

"Here. Have a seat."

She took her sit while he proceeded to take his own.

"Mr. Fox," she said, "I believe in what Mr. Wayne was trying to do. I'm only asking for explanations because I think I can help."

"I'll pass along your request," Fox said. "Next time I see him."

She catched something in this.

"He doesn't talk to you either?" Miranda inferred.

"Let's just say that Mr. Wayne has his…eccentricities."

_To put it mildly_, Fox thought.

This would be worse than she had thought.

"Mr. Fox," she persisted. "Are you aware that John Daggett is trying to acquire shares of Wayne Enterprises?"

"I was not," he admitted. "But it wouldn't do him any good. Mr. Wayne retains a clear majority." At that he fell silent, indicating that the conversation was at an end.

"Thank you to dispose your time with me, Mr Fox," she said, rising from her chair and leaving the room.

She was clearly disappointed not to have learned more about the company's current prospects. Fox sighed. He appreciated the woman's energy and conviction, but certain information could not be shared with anyone other than Bruce Wayne himself. Miss Tate needed to remain in the dark, along with the rest of the world.

Returning to his own office, he found an unexpected visitor.


	11. Ch9Faithfull Meeting

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Next chapter we're going to see the Masquerade Ball._

* * *

**IX - Faithfull Meeting**

_**CEO room, Wayne Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

"Bruce Wayne," he intoned. "As I live and breathe."

Bruce rose to greet him, leaning on his cane. Fox couldn't remember the last time the hibernating heir had visited Wayne Tower.

They initiated a humorous dialogue. Bruce asked about his money, more precisely the loss of it, and how the company was doing. Fox replied that Bruce himself had funneled the entire R&D budget for five years into a fusion project that he then had mothballed. He added that Wayne Enterprises was running out of time and Daggett was moving in.

Bruce accepted the gloomy prognosis without complaint and asked about his options. Fox suggested he should turn the fusion machine on but was cut off by Bruce.

"I can't, Lucius."

"Then sit tight," Fox advised. "Your majority keeps Daggett at arm's length while we figure out a future for the energy program with Miranda Tate. She's supported your project all the way, incidentally. Besides she has already helped you, when Earle wanted to take Wayne Enterprises public and you were about to lose control of your own company. She's smart, and quite lovely."

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You too, Lucius?" Years ago, with Miranda's distance expertise, he had been able to buy back the majority of the shares via roundabout means and again become the owner. However he didn't want to take any risks with the machine, and was not prepared to face her again after all these years. He didn't know if she still harbored some secret hope regarding them. For him, Miranda was a wonderful woman who deserved a man at the height of her qualities and Bruce felt like a hollow shell that could not offer anything to anyone.

"We all just want what's best for you, Bruce." It pained Fox to see such a remarkable man, who had already overcome so much tragedy, cut himself off from any hope of happiness. Bruce deserved better than the self-inflicted purgatory to which he had condemned himself. "Show her the machine."

"I'll think it over," Bruce said. That was more than Fox had expected, so he chose to leave it at that.

"Anything else?" Lucius asked.

"No, why?" Bruce responded. Fox smiled nostalgically.

"These conversations used to end with some… unusual requests."

"I retired," Bruce said tersely.

Neither man needed to clarify. They had always understood each other with regard to Bruce's former… pursuits, even if they seldom spoke of them directly. Plausible deniability had its advantages, at least as far as Fox was concerned.

Nevertheless, he wasn't finished.

"Let me show you some stuff anyway."

Fox hit a button and the bookcase opened into a hidden elevator.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprise's Applied Sciences Division, bunker deep beneath the Wayne Tower, Gotham City**_

Moments later Fox led Wayne into a vast, gadget-filled space - the Wayne Enterprise's Applied Sciences Division - hidden away in a hangar-sized bunker deep beneath the tower, many stories below the business offices. When Bruce had first visited the facility, nearly a decade ago, it had become a graveyard for discarded prototypes and forgotten projects, left to gather dust out of sight, and out of mind.

Only he and Lucius had seen the potential in the division's extensive collection of high-tech castoffs. Together, they had turned the mothballed relics into an arsenal.

Before it all went wrong.

Now the bunker was a graveyard again. Or so Bruce thought. They passed some Tumblers with different weapons configurations, but there was some new stuff he didn't recognised at first. Bruce limped uncomfortably through the vast, cavernous chambers, inspecting Lucius's growing collection of high-tech toys.

Fox explained to him that he had been consolidating all the prototypes under his roof, attempting to avoid them from falling into the wrong hands. The older man offered him a couple of new gadgets, which were promptly denied by Bruce.

Then he moved to a thick metal door that guarded an adjacent chamber. Lucius entered a code into a keypad mounted next to the door and the security barrier rolled upward, exposing the hangar beyond. Bruce's eyes widened at the sight of a sleek, state-of-the-art vehicle that appeared to be all folding metal planes and panels. Enormous rotors waited to lift the intimidating craft into the air.

Lucius proudly explained the contraption, which he had pat called as 'The Bat'.

Bruce was impressed and couldn't resist taking a closer look. He limped forward and ran his hand over one of the prototype's many angled and overlapping elevons. The cockpit was sheltered beneath the wings in a sturdy armored module. The empty pilot's seat called out to him. Instinctively he wondered how the Bat handled in the air.

As though reading his mind, Fox assured him that the vehicle worked great, except for the autopilot. He then suggested, as Bruce had more free time than him, he could fix it.

But Bruce refused to let the older man entice him. He turned his back on the aircraft with an undeniable twinge of regret.

* * *

_**Rebuilt Gotham General Hospital, Gotham City**_

Bruce sat on an examination table in Gotham General Hospital. It was already dark outside, but Alfred had managed to arrange an after-hours appointment. The Wayne name still opened doors in Gotham, no matter what the latest financial reports said.

He was half-listening the huge and absurd list of injuries that the young doctor reported to him. He had other things on his mind.

_Finally_, Bruce thought when the physician ended up with it and left to attend to his rounds, leaving his patient alone in the exam room.

He quickly dressed and pulled a wool ski mask over his head. Moving rapidly, before anyone remembered to check on him, he hobbled over to the window and climbed onto the sill. Twisting the head of his cane, he drew out a length of unbreakable monofilament wire and clipped it to his belt, then wedged the cane securely behind the window frame. The glass pane slid open easily. Bruce leaned out to inspect the view.

Although he hadn't attempted a stunt like this in years, he threw himself out the window into the night. Gravity seized him and he plunged toward the alley below, the wire unspooling behind him. The night wind whipped past his face. He counted off the floors as he plummeted past them and waited until just the right moment to trigger the braking mechanism.

He came to a halt directly outside a private room on the eleventh floor. Dim lights penetrated the curtains as he stealthily raised the window and slipped inside the room. Trained in the arts of the ninja, he made not a sound as he crossed toward the haggard figure in the bed. His heart sank at the sight.

Bruce had first met Jim Gordon on the worst night of his life. As a young police officer, freshly transferred from Chicago, Gordon had attempted to comfort an eight-year-old child mere hours after the boy's parents had been murdered by a mugger in what would someday be known as Crime Alley. Although traumatized by the murders, which had taken place right before his eyes, Bruce had never forgotten the young officer's kindness.

One of the few honest cops in a town that liked being dirty, Gordon had proven a valuable ally in Batman's war against crime.

Over the years, the Dark Knight had come to depend on Gordon's integrity and courage.

Now Gordon lay helpless in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines. Blinking medical equipment monitored his vital signs, which were alarmingly weak. An oxygen mask was affixed to his face. An IV fed fluids into his arm. Gordon's face was ashen. His skin looked clammy. Bruce felt a long-buried anger building in his chest.

Gordon was his friend.

Whoever did this to him needed to pay.

_Bane_.

A low growl escaped Bruce's lips, rousing Gordon, whose eyes fluttered open. For a moment, Bruce feared that the commissioner might panic at the sight of a masked man standing at the foot of his bed, yet somehow the injured man seemed to recognize him. Gordon tried to speak, but the oxygen mask muffled his words. Wincing in pain, he tugged the mask away from his mouth.

"We were in this together," he said hoarsely. "Then you were gone..."

"The Batman wasn't needed anymore," Bruce responded, disguising his voice. "We won."

"Built on a lie," Gordon croaked. "Our lie." He moaned weakly, in obvious distress. "Now there's an evil rising from where we tried to bury it. Nobody will listen." Anxious eyes pleaded with his visitor. "The Batman must come back."

Does he know what he's asking? Bruce wondered. "What if he doesn't exist anymore?" he replied aloud.

"He must," Gordon murmured, gasping for breath. "He must."

* * *

_**Park Row District, Gotham City**_

Park Row had once been a prestigious place, but the neighborhood had never fully recovered from a series of economic downturns over the last few decades. Most of the local merchants and dwellers had abandoned it, only to be replaced by successive waves of struggling immigrants, welfare recipients, and squatters.

The Monarch Theater was the greatest symbol of all that decay. In the heyday of the theater, the neighborhood had several attractions and people from the entire city had come to enjoy the square.

It was already night when Bruce pulled up his silver Lamborghini across from the forsaken theater, protected by the shadows. Although slightly out of place in this low-rent district, the deluxe sports car only attracted a few curious glances. It wasn't uncommon for the upper classes to go slumming in Park Row, looking for drugs and other illicit diversions. He was checking a tracking device when D.J. exited and entered into a small car parked in front of the building. Bruce watched him go then waited a few moments before pulled out his Lamborghini, checking his traker again which was beeping on the dashboard.

_"Let's see where he's going with that jewelry,"_ he thought.


	12. Ch10We all wear masks - Pt 1

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. In case you're wondering what song plays during Bruce/ Miranda meeting, here is the link: www(**dot**)youtube(**dot**)com(**slash**)watch?v=KzydTOkZty8 . It's "Wicked Game" by BossaSonic.__  
_

* * *

**X - We all wear masks - Part 1**

_**Gotham Museum of Art, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

The small car dropped D.J. off in front of the Gotham Museum of Art, where some sort of lavish celebration was being held. Instead of entering through the main entrance, the lad went to a side door that looked like an employees' entrance.

Town cars were dispensing Gotham society in tasteful masquerade. Bruce pulled up to the curb and turned the Lamborghini over to a valet.

_Good thing I put on a decent suit tonight,_ he mused.

Paparazzi were lining the entrance. Bruce used his cane to get out of his Lamborghini and was greeted by a hail of flashes. Everyone was excited and surprised by the return of the city's most notorious son to social life.

Dozens of lenses swung toward Bruce, who blinked and quietly pressed a button on his key fob – a pulse. All at once, every camera in the vicinity went dead. Frustrated paparazzi clicked uselessly and cursed their equipment. Bruce repressed a smile.

Climbing the steps, he approached the front entrance. He identified himself to the greeter, who excited, didn't even care if he was listed or not on the guest list and promptly drove him in. After all, he was Bruce Wayne.

_A Masquerade Ball. How original_, he thought sarcastically.

An expressively attired dance floor was under falling red rose petals. A small jazz band was performing an old music hit that was soothing the couples on the dance floor. Servants wearing domino masks were circulating among the guests serving lots of food and drink. The opulence resembled an ancient Roman feast. Even Bruce Wayne was struck by the ostentation. Oddly enough, he was the only person not wearing a mask.

_Too bad I left my cowl at home_, he thought.

Bruce walked across the dancing crowd and, with some difficulty, climbed a staircase leading to a mezzanine, intending to have a broader view. He spotted D.J. dressed like a waiter, wearing a mask and carrying a tray full of Champagne flutes, but before he could approach the boy he heard a soft and unforgettable voice calling him.

"Bruce Wayne at a charity ball?" she said in a surprise tone.

He turned to find Miranda Tate, amazed. She was wearing a fancy burgundy red gown. A small Venetian mask was her only concession to the theme.

For several seconds he stared at her, unable to move. He recognized her almost immediately and his lips formed her name, but no sound was heard.

The hair that she had always worn above her shoulders was longer and cascaded into soft waves around her face. Her body had become more curvaceous and sensual. Her eyes were blue as ever but with a depth that was not there before. The young woman had given rise to a mature one.

Long repressed memories freed up and threatened to choke him. He did not want the memories awaken. The past was dead and buried. It had been years since he thought about her or what happened. He did not think because he was too ashamed of the way he had acted. But he had to face her. Otherwise, he did not know what would become of his life.

* * *

_**Moments earlier, same place**_

Miranda Tate did not have to look back. She knew exactly who had just entered that exclusive Masked Ball. Even though she had not heard the noise made by the paparazzi at the party, or even that had not felt the strong energy that had taken over the room like an earthquake, she was sure. Her body noticed and reacted instantly. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her stomach tensed. The muscles were contracted. She stopped pretending to admire the shapes and colors of the framework in front of her and let her eyes get closer to old memories. And a lot of pain ... Lots of it.

And there he was. After so long, after all that agony and years of isolation, they were in the same environment. And Miranda told herself she was ready.

She had to be.

She spun around slowly and stood next to the glass railing of the mezzanine, so she would have a privileged view up to the door, preparing for his arrival. Though when she turned, she was forced to admit to herself that it was impossible to be prepared for the thrill of seeing that man crossing the hall doors under a shower of petals.

She had suffered a lot when separated from him, almost sixteen years earlier, but everything had changed since then. She was a new woman.

Miranda was so lonely when she met him ... At an unknown country and devoid of friends or family. The truth is that she never really had all of this for most of her life. The only world she had known was very narrow ...

Until Bruce appeared, as if he was the sun after years of rain.

He had seemed perfect, a prince from a fairy tale. And she had believed, at his side, she was a princess who would live in a sort of come true dream.

Miranda bit her lip. She had learned so much ... Especially when he had shattered that dream by leaving her completely abandoned just when she had most needed him. She had been more alone than she had ever been in her entire life, and so far from home ...

She clenched her hands and took a deep breath. She would not be a hostage of her own anger at that moment ... She had goals to fulfill that night.

She raised her eyes and saw him. And the world seemed to shrink and then expand around her. Time seemed to stop ... Or maybe she was just holding her breath.

He began to cross the dancefloor.

Only then she really could see him in every detail. He was still handsome, but there were fine lines around his deep brown eyes and over his forehead. The hair was still dark, but acquired gray hairs at his temples. The powerful body and his impressively broad shoulders were pronounced by the dark suit of impeccable cut. Everything he wore, and also how he behaved, were a clear demonstration of his wealth, power and magnetism. Now Bruce had a mature appearance. And how would not he? Sixteen years made much difference. He was walking with the aid of a cane and looked like almost ... Vulnerable, causing her an eagerness to hug him.

_No! Stop it_, she thought.

She noted Bruce's eyes wandering around the room with great impatience. He seemed upset. And he finally found her.

It had been over fifteen years since that man had possessed, used and abandoned her without consideration, as if she had been ... nothing. As if she had been a piece of clothing purchased on an impulse which he had discarded at daybreak when he had seen it was worthless.

All she wanted was to forget the past and concentrate on the present. She left the memories aside and straightened her shoulders.

"Bruce Wayne at a charity ball?" she said in a surprise tone.

"Miranda. It's been a long time"

"Yes, it has," she agreed, lowering her mask. "I suppose I should be flattered that you deign to remember be me after all this time?"

Bruce seldom blushed, but for once he came close.

"It's impossible to forget you. Wow," he said, looking at her with scrutiny, "you still look gorgeous as ever."

"And you keep being the same charming boaster as ever," she declared, smiled wryly and slightly reduced the distance between them.

"If I can remember well, you had seduced me and travelled to Gotham – for what should had been a quick trip – without even saying goodbye. Then you had disappeared for years, and when everyone had given you up for dead, you're back. One day I got a strange call from you asking me to help you to recover your own company and then we lost touch with each other again. When I've decided to come to Gotham and join the Wayne Enterprises big family, you've been avoiding me like I've had some kind of contagious disease. That was not nice of you. You've broken my heart," she shot at one time. She did not sound being angry and was just smiling ironically pretending to be outraged.

"Humm..." Bruce murmured, smiled sheepishly and further decreased the distance between them, their bodies almost touching, "The scorned woman's role doesn't suit you," he added and she smirked in return, "and, if I recall well, it was you who had seduced me," he objected with a hint of amusement in his voice. They were playing a game in an attempt to not disclose the tension that both were feeling.

"I was younger and less experienced than you," she said almost in a whisper, looking straight into his eyes.

"But you could be very persuasive..." he retorted.

"And I still am," she agreed seductively with a wide smile. "After all I managed to get you out of hiding and make you honor my party."

"Indeed, I had important matters that required my attention outside the walls of the mansion," he said looking towards D.J. "You know how to throw a party," he added and motioned his head towards the ballroom.

"It's full of very rich snobs who don't know what to do with so much money," she said with irony, almost mocking. "And my role is to give them the right cause to spend it on."

He had no reason to doubt her.

"That's very generous of you."

"You have to invest, if you want to restore balance to the world," she continued. "Take our clean energy project, for instance."

"Sometimes the investment doesn't pay off," he responded blithely. "Sorry."

She regarded him thoughtfully.

"You have a practiced apathy, Bruce. But a man who doesn't care about the world doesn't spend half his fortune on a plan to save it – and isn't so wounded when it fails that he goes into hiding."

Bruce felt as if his own mask was slipping. This new 'Miranda Tate' was clearly a woman to be reckoned with. He would have to be on guard around her.

"Have a good evening, Bruce," she said as she turned to leave.

_She used to call me 'Beloved'_, Bruce thought with a hint of nostalgia.

He watched her walk away, almost forgetting about Damian Blake for a moment. Then he recalled what had brought him here, and hurried down the stairs as quickly as his bad leg would allow.


	13. Ch11We all wear masks - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XI - We all wear masks - Part 2**

_**Gotham Museum of Art, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

To Bruce's relief, D.J. was still circulating among the guests. When he saw Wayne coming towards him, he turned around and headed in the direction of some kind of butler's pantry where the other servants were setting up and filling their trays. Bruce followed him closely.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," he observed.

"You were supposed to be a shut-in," D.J. replied while he was replacing the contents of his tray.

People went out and came into the room all the time and nobody seemed, or showed clearly, to care about the illustrious presence of Bruce Wayne amid the common people.

"Felt like some fresh air."

The young man eyed him curiously, more irked than alarmed.

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"I have a... powerful friend who deals with this kind of thing." He inspected the garment the teenager was wearing – a traditional gentleman thief's domino mask and tuxedo. There was a small tag at his chest level to identify the waiter's name. All others had an equal. On D.J.'s tag was written 'Timothy Drake'. "Brazen costume for a thief, Mr. ... Drake?"

"Look, sir," Damian said looking from side to side, then continued in a lower voice tone, "it's a legitimate job."

"And you're pretending to be someone else," Bruce emitted his opinion with a hint of sarcasm.

"So?" D.J. looked at him. Wayne seemed to be the only person not wearing a mask. He challenged the man. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire."

"Hurry up, Tim. Royalty wants to be fed," they were interrupted by a cupbearer who cried out for more food and drink. D.J. gave him some filled trays and sighed.

Bruce eyed his family's jewelry on the boy's tuxedo sleeve. The bird and the nest were assembled in one piece again. As they usually should remain. The bird – a robin... Many years ago he had bought the piece in an antiques fair with the intention to reunite it with the one that already belonged to his family's jewelry collection. But he decided to offer the robin pendant as a gift to someone else. He put the pendant on a simple gold necklace and gave it to Miranda, who had been enchanted by the jewelry's history. At that moment, Bruce felt fluctuate between past and present.

_Had this thief boy also stolen from Miranda,_ Bruce asked himself.

In a boost, he reached up to unclasp the cufflink very quickly. D.J. showed no reaction. He knew he could not start a fight with the Prince of Gotham because of a jewel that it had been stolen by himself, at least not with so many witnesses.

"You don't understand," the young man pleaded. Bruce stared at him. Damian looked younger. He realized that his soft features were still those of a child. His blue eyes seemed almost desperate. "It's a family jewel."

"I'm sure it is. From mine," Bruce countered in a more serious tone.

Damian bristled at the suggestion. His eyes flashed angrily. Those two valuable pieces of metal were the only clue he had to find his real parents and that playboy had just taken them.

There was a palpable tension in the air. Both men were about to lose their temper. Damian walked around the table, stood in front of Bruce and grabbed him by the collar of his suit.

"Don't push me, Mr. Wayne," he threatened. "You don't know a thing about me," he added and released the collar of Bruce's suit.

"Well, Damian Blake, I know you came here from your walk-up in Park Row. Modest place for a master jewel thief. Which means either you're saving for retirement – or you're in deep with the wrong people," he replied, without seeming a slightest bit under threat. For him, it was the only plausible explanation for why such a high-end burglar and hacker – who had already scored big several times over – was slumming in Park Row. He had to be trying to stay off someone's radar, even if this gala had lured him out of hiding.

The young man frowned at that.

"You don't get to judge me because you were born in the master bedroom of Wayne Manor."

"Actually, it was the Regency Room."

"I started off doing what I had to do," Damian said unapologetically. Then a hint of regret entered his voice. "But once you've done what you had to, they'll never let you do what you want to."

"Start fresh?" the older man guessed.

The young laughed bitterly.

"There's no fresh start in today's world. Any twelve-year-old with a cell phone could find out what you did. Everything we do is collated and quantified. Everything sticks. We are the sum of our mistakes."

"Or our achievements," Bruce argued.

"The mistakes stick better. Trust me."

Bruce knew all about mistakes... and regrets.

"You think that justifies stealing?"

"I take what I need from those who have more than enough," he said, a tad defensively. "I don't stand on the shoulders of people with less."

"Robin Hood?"

"I'd do more to help someone than most of the people in this room," D.J. insisted. "Including you."

"Maybe you're assuming too much," Wayne said.

"Or maybe you're being unrealistic about what's really in your pants other than a fat wallet."

"Ouch."

_This boy is rocking the boat_, Bruce thought trying to remain calm.

D.J. glanced around at the ostentatious display of wealth and extravagance.

"You think all this can last?" He shook his head dubiously. "There's a storm coming, Mr. Wayne. You and your friends better batten down the hatches, because when it hits you're all going to wonder how you ever thought you could live so large... and leave so little for the rest of us."

"Sounds like you're looking forward to it," the older man said.

"I'm adaptable," the teenager promised.

But maybe not for much longer, Bruce thought. Reformatory or the Child's Service Protection seemed to be the accurate fate of that kid.

Before Bruce could ask something about how the boy had acquired the robin pendant, Damian turned away, exiting the room. He tried to limp after him, but his bad knee slowed him down. Within moments, Damian had vanished from sight. Bruce admired the boy's skill and intelligence, if not his fondness for appropriating other people's property.

_Who knows what someone with so much potential could make if taking the right path._

Bruce tuck the jewel safely into his pocket and headed for the exit.

The fall air outside was bracing after the sweltering heat of the party. He approached the valet to reclaim his car. He patted his pockets.

"I seem to have misplaced my ticket." It wasn't an act. He really had lost his ticket somehow.

The valet looked puzzled.

"Your son said you were taking a cab home, sir."

"My son?"

The Lamborghini zoomed away from the museum. Behind the wheel, Damian grinned and gunned the engine.

* * *

Alfred picked him up in the Rolls-Royce an hour later. Bruce climbed into the back of the car.

"Just you, sir?" the butler asked dryly.

Bruce gave him a withering look. He wasn't used to being outsmarted.

"Don't worry, Master Bruce," Alfred assured him, clearly enjoying the situation. "Takes a little time to get back into the swing of things."

Bruce ignored the butler's teasing. He was in no mood to exchange banter right now. Instead he took out his phone and hit a number on speed dial.

Lucius Fox answered on the second ring.

"This is Fox."

"Remember those unusual requests I used to make?"

"I knew it," Fox said. Bruce could easily imagine the other man's amused expression. _Am I really that predictable?_

Up front, Alfred's smile faded. Bruce glimpsed the butler's careworn face in the rear-view mirror. Alfred looked distinctly troubled now, like he knew what was coming next, and wasn't at all happy about it.

Bruce couldn't blame him, but he had made up his mind.

It was time to come out of retirement.


	14. Ch12The Dark Knight Returns

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. All events of this chapter related with the invasion of the GC Stock Exchange/ hostage situation/ police action/ chase on the streets/ Batman's resurgence happen exactly like in the movie, except for the scene where the cop Blake argued with a construction worker. Instead of him, I've imagined another police officer or even Foley doing it. Remember, Peter Foley isn't a completely ass in this fic and he wants to do what Gordon never could - take down the Batman, the guy who killed (even if unintentionally) Harvey Dent. Plus, there might be some mild swearing so be warned!_

* * *

**XII - The Dark Knight Returns**

_**Batcave, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The experimental carbon-fiber brace arrived at Wayne Manor the very next morning. Bruce tried it out in the cave, away from the prying eyes of everyone except Alfred and the bats roosting overheard. He had gotten only a few hours of sleep since the masquerade, but wasn't about to take time out for a nap. He had slept enough these last eight years.

He pulled away his thoughts regarding Miranda and Damian, which pursued him most of the night, and focused on spending some time performing few tests with the device, under the curious and concerned gaze of the old butler. Despite the pain, the leg felt more solid than it had in years. Than it had since the night Batman fell. The experimental brace was not bad at all. The results were more than satisfactory.

Alfred appeared somewhat less enthusiastic about the success of their experiment. A pensive look came over his face. So he decided to share with Bruce some worrisome rumors he had collected about the terrorist Bane. Bruce gave Alfred his full attention.

According to the information he had obtained, Bane had spent most of his life in a prison – a place in a more ancient part of the world and which was called as the hell on earth. A pit where men are thrown to suffer and die. Some people believed he was born and raised there. No one knew why or how he had escaped, but people know who had trained him once he had. It was Rã's al Ghul, Bruce's deceased old mentor and lastest leader of the League of Shadows. A man that Bruce once had considered as a friend and them showed his true face when he had attempted to destroy Gotham years ago.

Bruce was stunned by the news. He had thought Bane merely a vicious mercenary, but the truth was far worse.

Alfred continued reporting that Bane had been a member of the League of the Shadows until he had excommunicated due to his too extreme ways even for a dangerous man like Rã's al Ghul.

But Bruce refused to be intimidated.

Alfred tried to dissuade him to give up to put the cape and cowl again. The servant reminded him that he could help the city as 'Bruce Wayne'. However Bruce was adamant and replied the city was in need of him and he had already failed trying to help it as 'Bruce Wayne'.

Alfred wrapped up the conversation verbalizing his concerns that perhaps Bruce really wanted to engage in a suicide mission.

At that moment, Bruce crossed the Batcave, no longer needing his cane, and unlocked a rectangular metal closet the size of an upright sarcophagus. Inside the cabinet, hidden away for eight years, was a suit of matte-black body armor made of reinforced Kevlar bi-weave fabric and fire-retardant Nomex.

The silhouette of a winged nocturnal predator was emblazoned upon the broad chest piece, which was capable of resisting anything except a straight shot at close range.

Adjacent shelves held steel-tipped black boots, gauntlets with scalloped metal fins, a hanging cloak, a golden utility belt, and – last but not least – a pointy-eared cowl. Its mere shadow had once struck terror into the hearts of Gotham's criminal element.

He took the cowl off the shelf.

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Alfred was finishing his butler's daily activities while watching the tv news. It was already getting dark outside. The last conversation he had with his employer had left him emotionally exhausted, since then he had exchanged just a few words with Bruce. His thoughts were interrupted by shocking news that were popping up on TV screen.

"_We just received an urgent newsletter,"_ the anchorwoman paused and continued to read a piece of paper. _"Gotham City Stock Exchange has been invaded by a group of heavily armed men under disguises. No one really knows what they want, but the police enforcement already are on the scene of a reported hostage situation. More informations alive with our local source Jack Ryder..."_

Alfred stopped paying attention. A bad feeling engulfed his soul. He went to the cave searching for Bruce, but he was no longer there. Probably he had heard the news via the police radio frequency. Worried, Alfred returned to the front of the tv screen.

Not long after, the news program was reporting alive an amazing chase through the streets of Gotham. The violent criminals had escaped on motorcycles carrying hostages so the police would not shoot them. When the Dark Knight himself made an appearance, Alfred's heart skipped a beat. Bizarrely the police failed to pursue the miscreants and started to chase Batman.

* * *

_**John Daggett's Penthouse, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

John Daggett's luxury penthouse occupied the top floor of a skyscraper in a ritzy uptown neighborhood overlooking the park. Flashy gold trim and black leather furniture advertised his wealth. He paced restlessly back and forth across the king-sized living room while Stryver stood nearby, in case his boss needed him. Every television in the penthouse was tuned to the breaking news story.

"._..police aren't saying much,_" a blonde anchorwoman reported. "_Frankly, they're too busy. But all signs suggest that what we're seeing is in, in fact, the return of the Batman._"

Daggett glared at the screen.

* * *

Only a room away, behind the closed door to Daggett's home office, DJ crouched in front of a safe, working the combination lock. He was wearing a simple stealth suit with a red hood covering his head, a dark leather jacket and military black boots. Avid blue eyes gazed out from behind a domino-mask/ high-tech goggles. A black utility belt hung low on his hips.

The glow from a spare television set lit up the dark room. He glanced up from his labors in time to catch an aerial shot of a cloaked figure racing down the highway astride the coolest motorcycle he had ever seen. A news copter briefly captured the cycle with its searchlight. The masked cyclist was crouched low upon the wheels, tearing up the highway at high speed. Even from a distance, the rider looked an awful lot like a certain legendary Dark Knight.

"_Well, well_," he whispered. "_What do you know?_"

Ordinarily, he would have enjoyed watching the live coverage himself, but unfortunately he had urgent business to attend to. Assuming that Daggett and his slimy second-in-command were busy watching the news, he cracked the lock and opened the safe. A thick steel door swung open. He reached inside.

There was nothing there.

He frowned, glaring angrily at the empty safe.

_It's not fair_, he thought. _It was supposed to have something here!_

* * *

"Eight years!" Daggett exclaimed angrily. He tossed down a drink from the bar. The fifty-year-old Scotch did little to calm him. He paced back and forth in his apartment. "After eight years, he has to pick tonight to come back!"

Stryver pointed out the bright side.

"He's drawing the cops off Bane."

_That's true_, Daggett conceded. _What do I care about Batman? He's not connected to me. Unlike Bane_.

Maybe things were actually working out in his favor. That calmed him down.

* * *

_**Gotham City General Hospital, Gotham City**_

Gordon sat up in his hospital bed, still hooked up to machines. The TV in his room was tiny and had lousy sound, but he could make out the aircraft rocketing out of the alley. His heart soared with it.

For the first time in days, he smiled.

* * *

_**John Daggett's Penthouse, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

"_...police are keeping quiet about the prospect of a return by the Batman, but eyewitnesses accounts seem to clearly suggest the type of..._"

Daggett watched the huge flat screen TV intently. Stryver put down his cell phone.

"Bane says the Batman interfered, but the task was accomplished."

Nevertheless, Daggett was still worried.

"What about the men they arrested?"

"He says, and I quote, 'they would die before talking.'"

At that, Daggett relaxed a little. Bane could probably be trusted where his men were concerned. Lord knows they had pulled off that operation in West Africa without a hitch.

"Where does he find these guys?" he wondered aloud.

Stryver just shrugged. Daggett figured they didn't want to know.

"Open the champagne," he instructed, his spirits continuing to rise. After all, a celebration was in order. He headed for his office to click off the TV in there. He'd had enough of Batman tonight. He was in the mood for a different kind of entertainment. "And can we get some girls up here?"

"I'm not a girl, but you should be careful what you wish for."

A hooded man leapt through the doorway. Grabbing him, he threw him across the living room, slamming his back into a wall.

The tycoon reached for the gun he kept holstered under his jacket, but the invader threw up his leg and kicked Daggett's wrist, flunging the gun across the room and away from them. The older man whimpered in pain as the hooded one twisted his arms behind his body tightly. The invader leaned in toward Daggett, his face hidden behind a mask.

"Cat got your tongue?" he growled.

He didn't recognize the young man, since only Stryver had dealt directly with DJ, but he deduced he was probably the famous thief that they had hired and who had returned to get the remaining debt.

"You dumb son of a bitch," he muttered. He couldn't believe his nerve, confronting him here on his own turf. Did this guy really think he didn't have protection? His bodyguards would be here in minutes.

"Nobody ever accused me of being dumb," he replied.

"Dumb to show up here tonight."

He forced the grip further.

"I want what you owe me," the young man said.

Stryver finally got around to earning his paycheck. He placed a gun against DJ's head.

Daggett smirked. He could see that his henchman was keeping his gun in place.

"'I want' never gets..." Daggett began, and then he stopped as the thief start to loosen the grip.

Before Stryver could do anything, DJ noticed his presence and, without warning, drove a hidden retractable blade – which was attached to a arm bracer – into his calf. He let out an agonized scream even as the young man spun around and twisted his wrist, forcing him to release his gun.

Stryver staggered backwards, clutching his leg. DJ stuck the gun in his belt and threw Daggett up against the wall again, with even more force than before.

"I want my payment," the young man demanded.

"Your payment? For what?" Daggett replied, playing dumb.

"Don't play with me, your asshole. You know very well that you owe me for getting the fingerprints of one of the most powerful men in town."

"Oh, yeah," he said, shrugging. "That little thing... Well, I don't know if is gonna work so I won't pay the full price," he declared.

DJ hissed, but before he could lash out at Daggett again, there was a commotion in the hallway and more bodyguards rushed into the room, guns drawn.

_About time they got here!_ Daggett fumed.

DJ spun Daggett around, using him as a human shield, and kicked at the plate glass window behind him and the glass shattered loudly, spilling out onto the rooftops below. Then he tumbled backwards, dragging Daggett with him. The terrified tycoon shrieked in terror.

_Oh my god, the crazy son of a bitch is going to kill us both!_

They fell through the night – landing on a suspended window cleaning platform ten feet below. Without missing a beat, DJ sliced through a knot with his blade, releasing the platform, which plunged down the side of the building.

Daggett started screaming again, until the platform halted just above the flat rooftop of an adjacent building. The young man tossed Daggett there, and then sprang nimbly onto the roof himself.

He towered over Daggett, who lay sprawled on the rough, tar-papered surface. Furious blue eyes flashed menacingly

"Are you gonna pay me?" he repeated.

"I think we can make another deal, don't you?" he said, trying to make it sound as if he was changing his mind. His heart was still going a mile a minute, but he wasn't going to let this crazy thief get the better of him.

The hooded man stepped back, mulling it over. People like John Daggett made him sick. The older man could tell he was considering his options.

_Just wait 'til I sic Bane on you_, he thought acidly. _You get what you deserve, you psycho brat._


	15. Ch13The Bat, the Bird and the Bane

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Check my profile to see my inspiration for Robin's outfit. It isn't exactly like that conceptual art but inspired by it. Nolanverse Robin outfit concept by DarthDestruktor from Deviantart._

* * *

**XIII - The Bat, the Bird and the Bane**

_**Over Daggett's Penthouse Rooftop, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

DJ was taken aback by Daggett's claim.

Was he telling the truth?

Before the young man could react, armed men joined them on the rooftop, coming from several directions. Sporting guns, military fatigues, and surly expressions, they dropped down on bungee cables and came scrambling up the fire escapes. He was impressed by the speed of their response. He couldn't fault Daggett's goons for their persistence. However they're not Daggett's bodyguards, these were Bane's men.

DJ held Daggett by his throat, threatening him with his blade.

"Stay back!" he warned the newcomers. But to his surprise, they kept on coming. A scowling gunman, who had the stone-cold eyes of a professional, screwed a silencer onto his Glock. The teenager tightened his grip, eliciting a gasp of pain from the shaking tycoon.

Blood trickled onto his collar.

"I'm not bluffing," he insisted.

"They know." A gravelly voice came from the shadows. All eyes searched for the source of the voice. DJ spotted it – a dark shape, crouched on the roof above. "They just don't care."

_It's him_, the teenager realized. _Batman_.

The Dark Knight's startling presence distracted his adversaries. As the goon with the silencer looked up, DJ tossed Daggett aside and leaped forward, grabbing his gun. Batman dropped into the middle of the fray, fighting back the mercenaries at DJ's back, who fired the 'borrowed' Glock, clipping an overeager goon, who dropped like a stone. Then he targeted a second man, aiming right between his eyes, but, before he could squeeze the trigger, Batman yanked his arm down, spoiling his shot.

He took out the goon with a well-placed kick to the gut instead.

"You've gotta be kidding," the young man protested.

"No guns," Batman growled. "No killing."

DJ was amused by the Dark Knight's scruples. Firearms were not his style too, but of course, sometimes exceptions had to be made.

More men poured onto the roof. DJ was almost flattered by all this attention, but it was clearly time for a strategic retreat. Batman evidently felt the same way. He ran for the edge of the roof.

"Come on!" he gritted.

DJ followed him, confused, as Batman leaped off the roof. The young man got to the edge and paused to look down into the alley. He saw the black angular roof of some kind of stealth aircraft, the cockpit was open. His eyes widened behind his mask. Shots were impacting around him. So he quickly leaped, landing hard, but gracefully on the back of the vehicle and slided into the cockpit. Meanwhile the engines thundered into life and the canopy hissed shut, taking bullets from above.

_Okay_, he thought while was trying not to let his relief show. _Consider me impressed._

"My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange people," he informed.

"This isn't a car," Batman pointed out.

DJ flinched as the Bat thundered into the sky, downdraft forcing the mercenaries down onto the roof. All but one, who was walking slowly across the roof and strong against the wind... Bane. He watched the Bat roaring off into the night.

_Another day, betrayer. Enjoy what little time you have left. Your days are almost over, _the masked man thought.

* * *

_**Over an unknow skyscraper's rooftop, Gotham City**_

Batman put a safe distance between themselves and DJ's attackers before landing the Bat on the empty helipad of a midtown skyscraper. An EMP pulse took out any inconvenient lights and security cameras, ensuring their privacy for the moment.

He wanted to know what the lad had been up to at Daggett's penthouse – and why Bane's men were after him.

The canopy slid open above them, letting in the crisp night air. DJ sprang from the passenger seat.

"See you around," the young man said breezily.

The older man followed him onto the roof, where he took a moment to get a closer look at the boy's outfit. Batman recalled his early days as a crime fighter. This teenager seemed to have a lot in common with him. Once again he found himself thinking about Mr. Blake's potential.

"You're welcome," he said.

"I had it under control," DJ insisted.

Batman disagreed.

"Those weren't street thugs," he asserted grimly. "They were trained killers." He fixed his dark eyes on him. "I saved your life. In return, I need to know what you did with Bruce Wayne's fingerprints."

DJ looked him over thoughtfully, putting the pieces together.

"Wayne wasn't kidding about a 'powerful friend.'" He hesitated before coming clean. "I sold his prints to Daggett... but he didn't pay me back."

Batman caught a note of bitterness and shame in the boy's voice.

"I doubt many people get the better of you," he said. But DJ shrugged.

"Hey, when a guy's desperate..."

"What were they going to do with them?" he persisted. He was careful to use his 'Batman growl'. The young man seemed to have a way of putting two and two together, and he didn't want him to recognize him.

"I don't know," DJ admitted, "but Daggett seemed pretty interested in that mess at the stock exchange."

He didn't like the sound of that. He already knew there was a link between Daggett and Bane – forged by the West African coup – but what exactly were they trying to accomplish? And why had they needed Bruce Wayne's fingerprints?

A police chopper swept past overhead, continuing the manhunt. Batman stepped back into the shadows, evading its searchlight until the aircraft had passed. Then he turned back to continue the questioning.

But the hooded teenager was gone.

"Mr. Blake?"

He had disappeared, magically.

Batman grunted. The irony of the situation did not escape him.

"So that's what that feels like."


	16. Ch14Farewell

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XIV - Farewell**

_**Batcave, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Alfred was studying a security camera footage of Bane killing at the stock exchange when a roar built. Suddenly, the waterfall was glowing brighter until... SMASH! The Bat breached, downdraft spraying water. Two cubes rose and the Bat landed, then Batman jumped out.

The older man brushed water off his suit and made an ironic comment on the noise of the aircraft, which could draw the neighborhood's attention, but Bruce reminded him that they had bought all the neighbors.

As they were walking and talking, Alfred took the cowl from him, then the cape.

Bruce pulled out a USB device he had retrieved from the criminals and showed it to Alfred, who suggested that the police should be analyzing the crime's evidences. But Wayne objected, claiming the police enforcement did not have the tools to do that and, even if it had such tools, they could be used as weapons.

They continued arguing, Bruce keeping his opinion on return to active duty and Alfred trying to dissuade him not to risk his life anymore. The older man pointed out to the monitor and Bruce saw Bane killing. He was not intimidated and moved to switch off the monitor, but Alfred grabbed his hand and showed him how the mercenary was fighting, his technique was the League of Shadows reborned.

But Bruce was too stubborn to see the real threat that Bane represented and paid no attention to his butler's pleas. He proceeded to plug the USB device in the computer and then hit some keys. Text scrolled on the screen. It was some kind of coded trades. Then the screen blanked and a thumb print appeared. His thumb print. A courtesy of Damian Blake.

Wayne pulled out the USB, rose from his chair and asked Alfred to get the device to Fox, who could crack the code and tell them what trades they were executing.

Alfred looked at Bruce and took the USB.

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Moments later, inside the mansion, as Bruce was hitting the bottom of the stairs, Alfred informed him that he would get the USB device to Fox. But no more.

What followed was the hardest conversation the two men had already taken between them. When seeing Batman's return as an expression of a suicidal tendency of Bruce, Alfred decided to leave 'the truth have its day'. So, in tears, the old butler revealed the existence of a letter from Rachel, in which she explained that she would break the promise of waiting for him and would marry Harvey Dent. Alfred claimed that he had burned the letter with the intention of protecting Bruce from one more disappointment. Bruce stared at Alfred, shocked.

The hell of it was, Bruce believed him.

A cold fury erupted inside him, very different from the righteous anger he had directed at crime and criminals for so long. This was much more personal. Alfred was using Rachel to stop him.

The butler gazed at Bruce sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Bruce rasped. "You expect to destroy my world, then shake hands?"

"No," Alfred said. "I know what this means." But Bruce forced him to say it.

"What does it mean, Alfred?"

"It means your hatred. It means losing the person I've cared for since I first heard his cries echo through this house." He paused. "But it might also mean saving your life. And that is more important."

Bruce glared at him. Calmly, coldly, he said the worst thing he could say.

"Goodbye, Alfred."

The butler nodded, looking older and more tired than he had just moments ago. His shoulders slumped.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

Bruce turned his back and marched up the stairs. He did not want Alfred to see his tears.

It had been a breach between father and son. Alfred had never been disloyal, but he could not take part in the self-destruction of that man he considered as his own son. He walked toward his chambers and started packing.


	17. Ch15A Trap For A Bat

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. __I want_ to have _some_ _feedback, please! Let me know what you're thinking._

* * *

**XV - A Trap For A Bat**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The next morning Bruce was woken by the insistent doorbell ring. He got up from his bed and headed for the staircase. As he moved through the empty house, tying his dressing gown, he could not resist one tentative and called out Alfred. But Alfred was gone. The answering silence confirmed that last night had really happened. Bruce's face hardened. Knotting his robe shut, he hurried down the stairs and threw open the front door.

When he opened the door he found Lucius Fox, who gazed at him with surprise. Bruce Wayne was answering his own door.

Without feeling the need to explain why, he asked Fox about the coded trades which were found in that USB drive. Instead of answering, Fox handed him the morning paper. The front page headline was in huge type.

**BATMAN BACK TO FOIL OR MASTERMIND STOCK RAID**

Lucius indicated him to read page three. Puzzled, Bruce flipped past the coverage on Batman's alleged return until he stumbled onto another, significantly smaller headline.

**WAYNE DOUBLES DOWN – AND LOSES**

Bruce scanned the article in growing dismay.

Fox explained to him that it had seemed Bruce had made a series of large put options on the futures exchange. The older man added they had been verified by thumbprint and the options had expired at midnight last night.

Bruce looked up from the paper, reeling from the news. He had always preferred crime-fighting to high finance, but he grasped the implications of what he had just read. And the consequences were devastating.

Lucius told him they might be able to prove fraud in the long run but, for now, Bruce was completely broken and Wayne Enterprises was about to fall into the hands of John Daggett.

Bruce instantly zeroed in on what mattered most. The weapons. They could not let Daggett get his hands on Applied Sciences.

Fox assured him Applied Sciences was shut up tight and off the books, however the energy project was a different story. Then it sunk in, that it was the worst of all possible worst-case scenarios – the prospect of a man like John Daggett, with his connections to Bane, taking control of the mothballed project.

Bruce realized he needed help. The help of Miranda. She had a sharp mind and a natural aptitude in the financial field. If they only could convince the board to get behind her, instead of Daggett, then he might have a chance. But to do so they needed to show her the reactor.

Fox was way ahead of him and informed that they had a scheduled meeting with her in thirty-five minutes.

So Bruce went get dressed.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises Recycling Plant, Gotham City**_

The recycling plant was located across the river from Gotham. Acres of abandoned scrap metal, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, enjoyed a scenic view of the city's imposing skyline. Gulls and pigeons scavenged in the garbage. Bins of discarded car batteries and electronics equipment waited to be disposed of. Rust ate away at the accumulated refuse.

Miranda Tate glanced around dubiously as Fox led her from her car. She stepped lightly amidst the piles of junk, avoiding a greasy puddle. She could not believe that he had brought her out there to show her a rubbish dump.

However she would not let that discourage her mission. She thought of all the pain Bruce had caused to her years ago. A determination strengthened her resolution... that and a rage beneath the surface of her control.

Fox unlocked the front gate and invited her to come with him.

They arrived at a Portakabin – hidden deep within the junkyard, behind towering heaps of scrap metal; it was nothing but a glorified aluminum shed, with poorly maintained siding – and entered.

Miranda looked around the derelict office, which was tucked away inside the cabin. Dust covered the desk and file cabinets. A pinup calendar on the wall was more than a year out-of date. Beat-up office equipment looked as if it belonged in the heaps of recyclables outside.

Fox smiled at her cryptically and instructed her to keep her hands and feet inside the car at all times. Then he hit a button and the floor descended. Miranda was shocked as the office became an elevator. They kept descending diagonally into a massive concrete tunnel.

Miranda gasped out loud. Her eyes widened in excitement.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asked. Fox nodded.

"The reactor is beneath the river, so it can be instantly flooded in the event of a security breach."

"Is Bruce really that paranoid?" she asked.

Fox chuckled.

"I'm going to plead the Fifth on that one," he said.

Miranda marveled as they stepped off the elevator, then she spotted a figure deep within – Bruce Wayne, who was waiting for them in a cavernous underground complex that was as large and impressive as the ugly junkyard was not. She noted that he was no longer using his cane.

He went to meet her and reached out to greet her. He stood there, right before her eyes, staring at her. And she could not breathe or think right.

_Well, enough is enough,_ she thought. Miranda had a work to do, she reminded herself, and slid her hand into the palm of his warm and strong hand, which squeezed back her hand with the right pressure. He held his gaze at her as she felt the texture of his skin. She had to survive him. She was no longer the silly and needy girl from 16 years ago. She would never be that same again. She had worked hard for many years to leave her behind, to grow and finally be the woman she always should have been.

"Hello, Miranda," he said, his tone was deeper than she remembered. "I thought you might like to see what your investment built."

At the center of the hangar-sized complex was a black steel sphere, at least five feet in diameter, girded by segmented steel rings that she quickly identified as powerful electromagnets. Blinking green lights and gauges were embedded in the surface of the sphere. Diagonal steel trusses supported the core assembly, suspending it several feet above the floor. An instrument panel was located at the base of the left-hand buttress.

Drainage from the river flowed through wide concrete troughs in the floor.

_At last_, Miranda thought.

She savored the sight of the revolutionary fusion reactor and was completely excited at the prospect of a clean energy source for an entire city.

However, Bruce declared the reactor didn't work. He flipped a switch on the control panel. The core hummed to life, glowing brightly from within. Lit gauges registered a sudden surge of energy.

Then the device went cold. The gauges dropped back to zero. Bruce informed the ignition was working but there was no chain reaction.

Miranda did not believe him and retorted that he had built a lot of security around a damp squib. She would get the answer for that matter. It was her job to find out everything she could about the reactor and take the information to the right people.

He gazed at her stonily, but remained silent. She thought she understood his reticence and told him about a Russian scientist who had published a paper on weaponized fusion reactions three years earlier. She added that one week later Wayne's reactor had started developing problems.

_You don't have to be a nuclear physicist to see a connection_, she mused, looked at Bruce and said she thought that machine worked.

Wayne peered at her intently, then stated that if it had been operational, the danger to Gotham would be too great.

Tate nodded her head slowly before replying that the Russian scientist had died in a plane crash six months prior, but this did not seem to reassure him.

So she asked why he showed it to her. He answered he needed her to take control of Wayne Enterprises and that reactor.

She was aware of his current financial difficulties. How could she not be?

It also meant that she could gain access to the company's 'hidden' files when she needed. Miranda had not imagined her mission would be so easy.

"And do what with it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said firmly. "Until we can find a way to guarantee its safety."

"And if we can't?"

"Decommission it," he said. "Flood it."

She was dismayed by the very idea.

"Destroy the world's best chance for a sustainable future?"

"If the world's not ready, yes," he replied.

She stepped closer to him. He caught a whiff of her tender-scented flowery perfume.

After a few seconds, that soft femininity so typical of her impacted him heavily, awakening parts of his body he didn't know were alive. He felt a huge need to get closer to her, to get lost in her arms. Was she remembering the past as much as him? Bruce forced himself to think about the present moment. There were plenty of more important things he got to occupy his mind right now.

"Bruce, if you want to save the world, you have to start trusting it."

"I'm trusting you."

"Doesn't count," she said. "You have no choice."

But he wouldn't let it lie.

"I could have flooded this chamber any time over the last three years," he said. "I'm choosing to trust you, Miranda, and that's not the easiest thing for me." Intense eyes implored her. "Please."

She nodded.

Fox cleared his throat, politely intruding on the moment.

"Excuse me," he said, "but we have a board meeting to get to."

* * *

**_St. Swithin's Home for Boys, Neville neighborhood, Gotham City_**

When DJ began his search for his real mother or father, he never thought it would lead him to St. Swithin's Home for Boys again. He had spent some time there after his father's death, before he had ran away, and had made many friends at the orphanage.

He already had known that John and Mary Blake were not his birth parents from a very young age. DJ had been adopted when he was two days old. They had deeply loved him. More than anything in the world. DJ had suffered a lot with their deaths. And he was still suffering. Find his real parents seemed to him a natural wish, since he had become an orphan again.

His only tangible clue to his real parents was a necklace that was left with him when he was abandoned at birth. The necklace had a small pendant shaped like a bird – a robin. He had tried to learn more about the necklace with the help of his hacking skills. Clues had led him to discover that the necklace he had from his birth parents mysteriously matched a jewel from Wayne family's jewelry collection – a golden cufflink shaped like a small bird's nest and adorned with tiny little pearls.

When Daggett had hired him to steal Bruce Wayne's fingerprints, DJ had found the other half of the jewelry he possessed in Bruce's safe. He wanted to confront Wayne about the necklace, but he was afraid the billionaire denounced him to the police or worst, after all, he had 'powerful friends'.

Shouldn't it be too hard to find a person he had never seen before? Not if he knew how looking for in the right places. With this in his mind, DJ went to the orphanage.

St. Swithin's Home for Boys was housed in a shabby, four-story building that had seen better days. If anything, it seemed even more rundown than DJ remembered. Disguised as a courier, he gazed up at the home's crumbling façade. Memories, both good and bad, flooded over him. He shook his head to clear his mind before heading inside.

Orphaned and abandoned children, ranging in age from toddlers to teens, roamed the halls outside the office, jostling and joking with one another. Shrill laughter was interspersed with the occasional noisy squabble. Second-hand clothing had been passed down from one generation of orphans to another. Curious eyes peered in the doorway.

He got there during the period of less activity of the staff and stealthily obtained access to one of the administrative offices. Finally he should be able to access his records at the orphanage and find the possible whereabouts of his mother or father.

The orphanage kept its file records on paper folders. He searched for his personal info in files beginning with the letter D. Damian was a name given to him at the orphanage inspired by the name of a catholic saint. The file showed that the newborn baby boy had been abandoned on the doorsteps of the St. Swithin's, found completely dressed and wrapped in a blanket. When orphanage employees had stripped him from his clothes, they had found the necklace and a kind of hospital identification wristlet stuck on the blanket that had been embracing him. Slowly and with trembling hands, DJ opened an envelope attached to the file and a tiny adhesive tape strap fell into his lap. He picked up it, examining it carefully. Then he read a name written in large and faded block letters: TATE.

Taken by adrenaline, he rushed to gather the proofs he needed, putting the folders in the right places and exiting the office as fast as possible, without anyone realizing his presence there.

_Omigod, omigod, omigod_, he repeated over and over to himself as shock and confusion took hold of his mind. When DJ reached out the outside of the building, he took a deep breath. He was about to find out who was his real mother.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

The board of directors had convened an emergency meeting. Lucius Fox, as CEO, sat at the head of the long oak table, while Bruce Wayne occupied the other end for the first time in years – and possibly for the very last time.

John Daggett rose to address the board. He appeared even more arrogant than usual.

"I'd like to point out that we have a non-member here," he protested. "Highly irregular, even if it is his family name above the door."

All eyes turned toward the last surviving Wayne. Douglas Fredericks, one of the board's senior members, spoke up. He was a dignified older gentleman with a mane of snowy white hair, who had seldom been afraid to speak his mind. Bruce had always respected his honesty.

"Bruce Wayne's family built this company," Fredericks protested, "and he himself has run it..."

"...into the ground, sir," Daggett interrupted. He glanced around the table. "Anyone disagree? Check the value of your stock this morning. Gambling on crazy futures didn't just lose Mr. Wayne his seat on this board, it's lost us all a lot of money. He needs to leave."

"I'm afraid he has a point, Mr. Wayne," Fox said.

"I understand." Bruce rose from the table. "Ladies and gentlemen." He exchanged a look with Miranda as he slipped out the door.

A hush fell over the boardroom as the latch clicked behind him.

"All right," Daggett said, breaking the silence. He puffed out his chest. "Let's get down to business."

"Right away," Fox agreed.

He winked at Miranda.

* * *

The luxury of the Wayne Tower was evident when Bruce stepped off the elevator and walked across the italian marble flooring towards the reception, where a elegant woman was behind a modern table.

He forced a smile. The young woman merely arched an eyebrow. Her fingers were positioned over the computer keyboard, ready to type something, but she kept watching him getting out of the annex building.

A crowd had gathered outside Wayne Tower. Angry shareholders and hungry reporters shouted at Bruce as he exited the building. Cameras clicked away at a rapid-fire pace. TV crews captured the chaos on film.

"Mr. Wayne!" a reporter from the Gotham Gazette hollered. "How does it feel to be one of the little people?"

Bruce ignored him, and all of the questions. He looked around for his car.

"I'm sorry, sir," a company valet said sheepishly. "They had the paperwork..." Then Bruce saw his new sports car being towed away.

_First the Lamborghini_, he thought, _and now this. I wonder if I still have cash enough for a cab._

Bruce returned to the safety of the Wayne Tower's interior and used all his charm to ask the building's receptionist to call a cab for him. The redhead lady was wearing her hair in a high bun, stylish glasses and a navy blue suit. She seemed dazed by recognizing his interlocutor and stared at him for a long time, before getting the phone and do what he had asked her for.

While waiting for the cab, away from the hungry eyes of the press, Bruce checked whether he had any money for the taxi.

It was not enough.

"Damn," he mumbled to himself.

The redhead witnessed with curiosity her 'big boss' acting as a mere mortal. She was aware of the latest developments regarding his financial matters. So she got close to him and kindly handed some bills of money to him.

"Looks like you could use some money."

A sheepish look came over Wayne's face. He was surprised and thankful with the young woman's attitude .

"Thank you," he said. "I will return to your paycheck."

"Don't worry. It's ok," she replied smiling.

* * *

**_Daggett's Penthouse, Irving Grove, Gotham City_**

Daggett stormed into his penthouse, slamming the door behind him. His face was purple with anger as he stomped across the floor. He was furious because Miranda Tate got the inside track on the Wayne Board. How was that possible? His plan to become the majority shareholder of the company had failed. Tate was in charge now and the other board members seemed to follow her judgments. Stryver tried to calm his boss.

Daggett wanted answers and he wanted them immediately. He asked for Bane. Stryver did not know what to answer. They had arranged an urgent meeting with the mercenary.

"Then where is that masked...?" Daggett asked.

A deep voice interrupted him.

"Speak of the devil…" it said.

Daggett spun around to find Bane standing behind him, his meaty arms crossed atop his chest. Air hissed from the hulking mercenary's mask.

"…and he shall appear."

Daggett clutched his chest, startled by Bane's sudden appearance. Where had the ugly merc come from, and how had he gotten past the penthouse's supposedly first-class security? Between the hooded guy from another day and Bane, Daggett was starting to think anybody could get past his guards.

_Nearly scared me out of a year's growth_, he thought. _Who does he think he is? The Batman?_ But he tried to regain control of the situation.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded.

"The plan is proceeding as expected," Bane stated flatly.

_Hardly_, Daggett thought. "You see me running Wayne Enterprises?" Regaining his composure, he got in the mercenary's face. "Your stock exchange hit didn't work, friend. And now you've got my construction crews working all hours around the city? How exactly is that supposed to help my company absorb Wayne's?"

Bane turned toward Stryver.

"Leave us."

"You stay right there!" Daggett ordered. "I'm in charge."

Bane placed his hand lightly on Daggett's shoulder. A hint of amusement showed in his dark eyes.

"Do you feel in charge?" he asked.

A chill ran down Daggett's spine. He gulped as Stryver crept out of the room, leaving him alone with Bane. His mouth went dry, and suddenly his palms were sweaty.

"I've paid you a small fortune..."

It sure didn't feel like it at the moment. Bane's hand weighed heavily on Daggett's shoulder. He tugged on his collar.

"What is this?" he asked nervously.

"Your money and infrastructure have been important," Bane explained. "Till now."

Daggett stared in horror at Bane's grotesque countenance. He had thought that the infamous mercenary was merely another hired gun – somewhat more expensive than most, yet nothing more. But as he peered into the masked man's pitiless orbs, he finally realized that Bane was working for no one but himself. And he was no mere soldier of fortune.

"What are you?"

"Gotham's reckoning," Bane answered. "Come to end the borrowed time you've all been living on…"

He gently took Daggett's head in his hands. A primordial dread washed over the tycoon. He looked into the face of his destroyer as he grasped what Bane actually was.

"I am the necessary evil..." he added.

A sharp crack ended the discussion.

Stryver, on the steps outside the living room, flinched.


	18. Ch16An Unexpected Visitor

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XVI - An Unexpected Visitor**

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

The yellow cab cruised through Gotham. Bruce was sitting in the backseat, staring glumly out the window. He asked the driver to take him to the Manor. His thoughts were confused. He had a lot of things on his mind. His bankruptcy, Miranda, Alfred, Bane's whereabouts... He wondered who might be able to give them a lead. A thought occurred to him, along with a memory of a hooded daredevil boy. Suddenly he leaned over and asked the driver:

"You know what? Drop me in Park Row..."

"Park Row? Are you sure, sir?" the driver questioned. "It's not a safe place for someone like you."

"I know but I have to go there."

"Fine," the driver shrugged.

* * *

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

A short drive later, the taxi driver pulled up to the curb across from a shabby-looking building that had clearly seen better days. He wondered what business a man like Bruce Wayne had here.

Bruce paid the taxi driver and got out of the car. He still had enough bucks to return to the mansion.

As he approached the side entrance of the theater, he saw a teenage blonde girl dressed in a dark baggy jeans and purple T-shirt. She was carrying a backpack and immediately entered the side door, without paying attention to the man in a suit who was snooping around the theater.

When she was about to close the heavy door, Bruce held it in a quick motion. The girl lifted her frightened eyes and swallowed a scream.

"Easy. I'm not gonna do any harm," he assured her gently. She seemed not to believe him for a moment until the serious look on his face told her otherwise. "I need to talk to Damian."

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"A friend," he said, surprised that she did not have recognized him.

"You don't seem to be the kind of friend he has," she spat.

"Look, Miss... I need to talk to him. It's important and is for his own good," he practically was begging.

This seemed to convince the girl that finally allowed his entry.

"Ok, but I need to see if he can talk to you right now."

"Fine," he spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice.

_Who was this girl? Damian's personal assistant? A girlfriend maybe?_ Bruce mused, while the girl was leading him by a staircase.

Arriving in a sort of hall upstairs, she asked that he waited there for a while until she could find Damian. Bruce agreed with a nod of his head. Children around their teens years roamed the halls talking and laughing with each other. When they saw Bruce, they stopped talking almost immediately and started to look at him suspiciously, but he was not intimidated.

"It's okay, folks. He isn't gonna bother us," she announced and walked away. The young inhabitants returned to their rooms as if they were hiding from the stranger.

Before the girl could come back, a young a boy in a wheelchair appeared in a doorway.

"Hi, wh...who are you?" the boy asked. He seemed to have some difficulty in speaking.

"A Damian's friend," Bruce said. The lie came easily from his lips.

"You do... don't seem to be the kin...kind of friend he has," the boy stated.

"I've been told that."

"Wait. You 're...are Bruuce Wayne," the boy observed dazzled.

"Yeah," he said grudgingly, "I'm him."

* * *

The basement of the old theater was Damian's private sanctuary. He converted the place into a sort of training room. At that moment he was focused on a routine of exercises on the horizontal bar and also was trying to remain calm.

After his discovery in the orphanage he was impatient and anxious. He knew usually when children are abandoned, even at orphanages, there was an investigation to find out why the biological parents abandoned them. Why no one at the orphanage had cared to go investigating the name on the hospital wristband was beyond his comprehension.

He made a detailed search on the internet for people with the surname Tate living in Gotham. There were not many people. The most prominent and well-known of them all was Miranda Tate - a high rank executive of Wayne Enterprises. Although she was at the right and/ or compatible age, she had moved to Gotham just three years ago. Before that date, she had been a globetrotting based in Switzerland and, in the time she allegedly had given birth she had been at Princeton University. She had been involved with many charities, including donations of her own to St. Swithin's.

_Maybe she had a guilty conscience_, he mused.

He remembered her face, her eyes... They had the same shade of blue of his eyes.

His thoughts were interrupted when Stephanie came into the room, turned off the loud sound and called him.

"DJ!"

He jumped on the mat, grabbed a towel and a bottle of water and smiled at her. Steph was a good friend who used to come regularly to visit the 'lost boys'. Unlike them, she was not an orphan and lived with his mother - a nurse from a low-cost clinic for uninsured people - nearby the Park Row District. She helped with whatever was needed, particularly with Colin, who she took care sometimes.

"You have a visitor," she said seriously.

Damian frowned.

* * *

Moments later, when he arrived at his quarters, Damian fell across an odd scene. Colin was engaged in an exciting conversation with Bruce Wayne. The shy boy seemed to have flourished all of a sudden. Damian got closer protectively to the boy whom he considered as a brother. Wayne was sitting in a old chair and did not seem the slightest bit bothered by it. Realizing Damian's presence, the two turned their heads to him.

"DJ! You di...did..not tell me Bruuuce Wayne was you... your friend."

Damian's gaze pinned Bruce.

"Well, I didn't because nor I knew," DJ said, his tone tinged with annoyance. _What was this man doing here?_ he thought a bit angry.

"Hello, Damian," Bruce greeted.

Damian did not respond and simply said to Colin:

"Could you please give us a moment?"

"Shh...sure. Nice to mee...meet you, Mr. Wayne. Bye," Colin said, turning his wheelchair and exiting the room.

"Bye, Colin. It was a pleasure," Bruce said while the boy was leaving.

"What I owe the honor of your illustrious visit to my palace, Mr. Wayne?" Damian said in a mockery tone.

Bruce rose from his seat. "Now that's not a tone to take with a friend." Amusement warmed his eyes, he folded his arms and grinned, waiting to see what the kid would do.

Damian turned his back on him and blew out a puff of irritation. Wayne looked at the cramped space. Damian shifted, embarrassed.

"Yeah, it's not much," the young man admitted with a smirk. "But it's more than you've got right now."

"Actually, they're letting me keep the house," he said.

Damian shook his head in disbelief.

"The rich don't even go broke same as the rest of us, huh?"

Bruce didn't deny it.

"What is this place?" he asked, glancing around. "A fortress for you and your 'merry men'?"

Damian smirked.

"A place to call home. They are my friends, my family. And I'd do everything in my power to make sure we all are alright."

Bruce was impressed by the boy's determination.

"I know the feeling," he said.

"Do you?" Damian asked roughly. "You are a loner with no family."

_Not entirely_, Bruce thought. He remembered Alfred.

"There are always people you care about," he said. "You just don't realize how much until a bad man points a gun at them. Or until they leave..."

His throat tightened and he needed a moment to collect himself.

Suddenly Damian was ashamed of his rough attitude. He knew that Wayne had become an orphan at eight years old in a brutal way. He just did not approve Wayne's presence there and was on the defensive.

"Look." He adopted a conciliatory tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a jerk," then he changed the subject, "why you're here?"

"My powerful friend needs your help," he said. "He wants to meet. Tonight."

"My help," the young man shouted, his eyes widened. "Why?" he asked, lowering the tone of his voice.

"He needs to find Bane. He thinks you'd know how."

_You are one screwed-up dude_, Damian thought. He repressed a shudder at the mention. He'd had dealings with a lot of bad people in his time, but the masked mercenary was one of the few individuals who had ever truly scared him.

"Tell him I'll think about it."

Wayne nodded and started to leave. The teenager called out to him before he left.

"Mr. Wayne? We've met before...when I was younger. At the orphanage."

Wayne gave him a quizzical look.

"See, my mom died when I was small," Damian continued. "From an incurable disease, I don't really remember it. But a couple years later my dad was shot over a gambling debt. I remember that just fine." He looked into Wayne's eyes. "Not a lot of people know what that feels like, do they? To be angry, in your bones. People 'understand,' foster parents 'understand'... for a while. Then they expect the angry kid to do what he knows he can never do. To move on, to forget." He spat out the word.

Bruce already knew the boy's story but proceeded to listen him.

"So they stopped understanding and sent the angry kid to a boys' home, St. Swithin's. Used to be funded by the Wayne Foundation." Damian paused to let that register. "See, I figured it out too late. You have to hide the anger. Practice smiling in the mirror, like putting on a mask." The words – and memories – tumbled out of him. "You showed up one day in a cool car, pretty girl on your arm. We were so excited – Bruce Wayne, billionaire orphan. We made up stories about you. Legends. But when I saw that look on your face. Same one I taught myself. I knew who you really were. You're not just a rich playboy, are you?" he asked finally. "You're more than that."

Damian stopped. A weird idea had crossed his mind once. He wasn't sure what else there was to say. He waited for Wayne to respond, to deny or confirm, but the man just stood there silently, looking lost in thought. The lad wondered what was going through his mind.

Bruce was impressed with the boy's deductive skills but chose to go off on a tangent and focus the conversation on another topic.

"You're aware of the Wayne Foundation financial problems?"

"Yep, the money stopped and the boy's home don't have the resources to keep on boys after sixteen," Damian explained. "That's why many of them have been going down the tunnels when they age out. There's work down there."

_Bane,_ Bruce thought. _His underground army._

Wayne looked at him.

"The money Daggett promised to you was to help your friends, to help Colin?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. He told you how he got screwed like that?"

"No," the older man answered, shaking his head negatively.

"He's father is an abuser. He beat his son so much that the boy had to run away from home. His mom don't give a shit for him."

"Shouldn't he be under proper care?" Bruce asked concerned.

"You don't seem familiar with all bureaucracy, do you, Mr. Wayne?"

"Maybe I can find a way through Wayne Foundation..." but Bruce was interrupted by the young man.

"Do you realize the foundation has no money to afford it and you don't have a cent to your name?"

_Thanks to you,_ Bruce thought.

As if Damian could read what was on Bruce's mind, he declared:

"I'm sorry they took all your money."

He glanced back, seeing right through him.

"No, you're not."

Bruce got serious and decided to ask about something that was bothering him since the Masquerade Ball night.

"How do you get the necklace with the robin pendant?"

The kid hesitated for a moment then said: "I've told you. It was a family jewelry and you've taken it from me"

"You've stolen my car," Bruce said gently. "I think we're even."

"Do you know something about the necklace?" Damian asked curious. He looked at his feet and shuffled.

"It was a gift I gave to somebody I used to know," Bruce answered.

"Miranda Tate," Damian spat, out of nowhere, anxious.

Bruce froze and the next words came in a rush.

"Yeah. Why? How do you know that? Did you steal from her?" Bruce said almost growling, but still trying to remain calm. He must remember that he could not use his 'Bat-voice'.

The teenager stepped back and Wayne took a deep breath.

"Calm down, sir. I didn't steal from her. How could I do such a thing with the only benefactor of St. Swithin's? It's a long story and I don't have time to tell it, " he said and added, "say to your 'friend' I'll be waiting for him at 01 am at the ancient Robinson Central Terminal."

"Right," Bruce nodded his head and showed himself out.

Damian managed a casual nod but sank onto a chair as soon as Bruce disappeared. Damian's knees were shaking.

The clues indicated that Miranda Tate was his birth mother. But why had she abandoned him with a jewel that Wayne had given to her?

_What if... No! This is madness, _he thought.


	19. Ch17Judas Kiss

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Sorry for the big delay, but my laptop crashed and my profissional life is a little bit confused right now. _

_Finally a chapter for Bralia shippers. Be warned it contains mature content, but nothing smut-ish. You're not going to see some kind of "Fifty Species of Bats". I hope you all like it._

* * *

**XVII - Judas Kiss**

_**Gotham General Hospital, Gotham City**_

Detectives Crispus Allen and Romy Chandler rushed through the hospital, searching for the right room. A pair of uniformed cops, posted outside a closed door, indicated that they had reached their destination.

The cops recognized them and waved them through.

They found Gordon sitting up in bed, talking to Foley. The injured commissioner was still pale, and uncomfortably gaunt, but he looked much better than he had when Foley and other cops had dragged him from the sewers. A new pair of glasses rested on his nose. An oxygen mask lay to the side.

Apparently it took more than a few bullets to take Gotham's top cop out of the game.

"Allen? Chandler? Did something happen?" Foley asked, concerned. The abrupt appearance of the two detectives suggested that something really bad had happened.

"John Daggett's body was found in a dumpster an hour ago," Chandler reported. "I thought you two might like to know."

Gordon's curious gaze darted between Foley and the detectives, and then back again.

"Why?"

Foley let out a sigh. The commissioner was still in recovery process and he did not want to disturb him. Furthermore, he wanted to show that he could handle it without the help of the experienced cop.

"Because Daggett's name is all over the permits we've been pulling to map the tunnels under Gotham." He handed Gordon a stack of files, the relevant documents flagged with Post-Its.

"MTA maintenance, sewer construction…"

Gordon looked at Foley.

"Where did you get to with the tunnel searches?"

"I've got five hundred pages of tunnel records and a flashlight. We've had teams down there, but it's a huge network," Foley said.

"Get more men," Gordon ordered. "Work a grid. I want him found..."

"I know. Look, we've been trying to get anything on Bane's whereabouts but we also have other priorities, especially now that Batman is back," Foley said.

"Batman isn't a priority threat," Gordon said angrily. "This masked man is," he added.

"For God's sake, Gordon! Batman has been the most wanted of the GCPD for years. He murdered Harvey Dent among others," Foley protested.

The comment put Gordon on the defensive, though he knew that was not true, it was not the right time to make revelations. He leafed through the files, flipping through the pages and eyeing them hungrily.

"This is good work," he told them, looking up from the files.

"This is our priority number one from now." He cast a sideways glance at Foley purpled with suppressed anger, but kept his mouth shut.

"This could just be a coincidence," Allen hedged.

"You're a detective, son," Gordon said. "You're not allowed to believe in coincidence."

"We're on it, sir," Chandler stated, thrilled by the responsibility Gordon had just placed on them. She tried not to grin in front of Foley.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

A stormy rain was falling outside the Wayne Tower. The past few days were resting in an extreme point between summer and autumn, not looking like neither one nor the other, and tended to provide a bright sunshine followed by rain, with various temperatures on the same day.

Rain and cold temperatures seemed incredibly appropriate at that time, Miranda thought with cynicism, while she was crossing the corridors of the imposing office building towards the nearest elevator. She must have experienced a slight feeling of triumph for having succeeded to win another battle in her private war.

However, all she felt was anxiety and an immense void.

_Revenge is not an attitude of an intelligent person_, someone had told her once. _Ridiculous_, she rationalized, since she got what she had wanted for so long. But she could not change what she was feeling.

Driven by her anger and sense of justice, Miranda could not miss this chance to finally give Bruce Wayne a bit of his own medicine. The board chairman position had fallen into her lap. All the pieces were coming together.

But only after meeting with Wayne, Miranda had the real dimension of the challenge that lay ahead. It would not be easy. He still aroused deep positive feelings inside her, but that would not stop her. She had come to Gotham with a single goal.

Put an end to Bruce Wayne.

Before she could reach the elevator she was surprised by Bruce's presence in the hall of the top floor. He was sitting in a comfortable leather armchair pretending to be interested in a newspaper.

As if he could sense her presence, he lifted his head, smiled and went to meet her.

The cold and composed character was a hoax, one that Miranda held as she addressed him a greeting.

"Hey. You're back," she said sweetly. "Everything went as planned and for now the company is not in the hands of John Daggett." There was no need to go into details.

"Thank you. None of this would be possible without you," he replied grinning.

Both entered the elevator. Miranda was feeling strangely misplaced. Bruce, however, seemed perfectly at ease.

"My car has been towed. I could use a lift. Would there be any problem to drop me in the manor?" he asked lazily.

Her face fell. "Um, okay. There's no problem at all," she said, a little bit halting.

"Great," he said, ignoring her hesitation.

Moments later they went toward the rich suburbs of the city, leaving behind downtown high buildings that towered over like sentinels of glass and concrete.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Instead of going to the mansion, after his visit to Park Row District, Bruce took a cab and asked the driver to take him back to Wayne Tower. He needed to know the results of the board meeting and also would like to speak with Miranda. He had found the perfect excuse for them to be alone. But they drove in near total silence the whole way to his house. She kept her focus on driving under the heavy rain. He spent most of the time staring out the window, lost in memories.

_**Flashback**_

_**Princeton University, around seventeen years ago**_

_Bruce had been introduced to Miranda through an acquaintance in common - Veronica Vreeland. Veronica or Ronnie – as she liked to be called – was a member of the Gotham City elite and a wealthy socialite who had been involved in numerous charities, fundraisers and all the type of social activities on the university campus. She was a charming and frivolous woman with a big heart. Miranda and Ronnie had seemed to have nothing in common, except the desire for aiding others in their time of greatest need._

_One time Ronnie had approached him to talk about a charity work idea that the newbie Miranda had proposed. He had had no interest in the ideas of the new girl or anybody else. Ronnie had possessed a bad habit to introduce girls to him with the hope of matchmaking him with one of them. But she ought to stop doing this. It had been enough. He would apologize to Veronica and run away from that nightmare._

_Determined, he turned ... And all the air escaped from his lungs. From across the room, he saw her. At that moment, the world seemed to get into a dizzying trance. Everything froze as his gaze found her incredibly blue eyes across the other end of the vast room full of people. He stood there, staring at her, for an instant that could not be calculated on a time scale._

_There was no conscious decision on what he did then. A compulsion beyond his control impelled him towards her, as if he were hypnotized, guided by remote control._

_Ronnie introduced them to each other._

_"She has some ideas on which I want to tell you, Bruce," Ronnie said._

_"Why spend your time helping the needy, Miss Tate?" he asked grinning. "Too much idle time ... or guilty conscience?"_

_The two young women widened their eyes at the questions from him._

_"Bruce..." Ronnie started but was interrupted by a self-possessed Miranda._

_"That's fine, Ronnie," she assured to Veronica. "Neither of the two reasons, Mr. Wayne. I know I may sound naive but I've been very concerned about evil and its influence on the world. The only way I know to deal with it is learning all about the human soul... about how evil grows within it. Of course this sounds like cheap philosophy," she declared._

_"Absolutely not, Miss Tate." He was fond by her remarkable words but replied to her as they did not mean anything. "How about we all go and get some coffee?"_

_Since then, they had begun to meet more often and, despite feeling a mutual attraction, they had tried to stay at the friendzone._

_One occasion Bruce had come instead of Ronnie for a meeting with Miranda. He had explained to her that the party girl had been recovering from a hangover._

_"I hope she is alright," she said concerned. "She always far exceeds too much what she does..."_

_"Benefactors are just so," he said in a mockery tone. "They think they can change the world."_

_"And what about you?" she asked with a soft smile on her face._

_"Me?" he replied confused._

_"Yeah. I feel you have much to offer."_

_"Not at all! I just have too much free time. My biggest concern is escape from boredom."_

_"I don't believe it. You've been trying to hide but it's clear that you're a very lonely man... like my father."_

_"Your father?" he asked curious._

_"Yeah. He lost the only joy of his life when my mother died. The poor man became so distant and retracted... Would be horrible if that happened with you too."_

_"Well," he said grinning and stepped close to her. "Maybe it's not too late."_

_He leaned in and kissed her. She struggled at first but allowed him to slide his other hand to the back of her neck to pull her closer. The kiss was sweet, yet forceful and passionate._

_**End of the flashback**_

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The sun was going down by the time Miranda's car dropped Bruce off in front of the manor. A pounding rain drenched him as he splashed up the driveway, holding Lucius's newspaper over his head. The soggy tabloid provided meager protection from the downpour, quickly collapsing under the weight of the deluge. Soaked to the skin, he reached the relative shelter of the portico, where he rang the bell impatiently.

Miranda gave a poor excuse and declined his invitation to come inside. She was already leaving when she realized he looked completely lost on the doorsteps of his own home.

She stepped out from her car and ran toward the marble stairs of the mansion's entrance.

"Is there something wrong? It seems nobody's answering."

He turned to find Miranda beside him, looking similarly sodden.

"Yeah," he replied ruefully. "I'm on my own, now."

"Do you have keys?" she asked.

He looked at her a little helpless all of a sudden.

"I never needed them…" Alfred had always let him in before.

She took his hand.

"Let's find a window," she suggested.

Breaking and entering proved distressingly easy. Bruce guessed that the servants had neglected to activate the household security system before departing in search of steadier paychecks. Shivering, he and Miranda forced open the French windows and took refuge in the great room. Water dripped off them onto the carpet.

He turned on the lights.

"Fox worked the board like you've never seen," she reported, shaking the rain from her dark hair. "Daggett's out of the picture, and he's not happy."

He set the wet newspaper down on a table and vanished through the rooms of the huge house. Ink bled from the headline on page one of the business section.

**FROM BILLIONAIRE TO BUM**

Miranda had no idea what she was doing when she decided to help him entering in the house. At that moment he was seeming so vulnerable and she should feel some kind of joy with this, but she could not. Deep down she admired him in his drive, determination and nobility.

Her stomach was churning with nervousness as she was crossing the parlor. She picked up the newspaper, examined the summary, then chose an article and pretended to be interested in a stock market graph.

"Hope you didn't just like me for my money," he said upon returning, handing her a dry towel.

"Suffering builds character," she declared as she kicked off her wet shoes and glanced at a portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

"I'll take care of your parents' legacy, Bruce," she promised as she tried to dry herself with the towel.

He believed her.

She picked up a photo of Rachel and subsequently put the photo down.

"Where's Alfred?" she asked.

"He left. Taking everything."

"What you mean 'he left'?" she asked confused and a little bit worried. She knew how much the old butler was important to him. "Where is he going? What happened?""

"We had a disagreement."

"It must have been a big disagreement," her interest was genuine.

"It was about Rachel."

"I see," she said kindly but firmly. "I think Rachel left a lasting legacy. I think you're still so bound to her that you can't get over her loss, and may never be able to do it. And I also think as long as you're allowing your past affect you that way you will never have the future you deserve," she snapped, mortified with her own loss of composure.

Wayne looked at her and narrowed his lips.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't... It's not my place to say... It's just... I should never have said that," she said, lowering her head and crossing his hands in front of her body.

_Funny thing to say_, she mused, because she had been allowing her past affect the way she was living.

"Why not? What you said is true. There's never been any room in my life for a woman, except for Rachel. That's what I told myself every time... Maybe that's just what I wanted to believe. Then I've met you... I've tried to forget you, God knows..." he paused and then added: "I've got something to you," he said, pulling the collar – that once had belonged to her – from his pocket and then he handed it to her.

She froze and opened and closed her mouth repeatedly but nothing came out. She could not find words.

"How did you... How did you get it back? I've thought..." she stuttered, pale.

"It's the second time today I notice pure hesitation in your voice," he said grinning. It looked like Miranda had been walking on thin ice with him. Unfortunately some suspicions had been crossing his mind. But he needed to be very sure before he acted.

Ignoring the astute observation that he had done, she said:

"I've thought I had lost it.. or maybe I had been robbed."

She looked closely the jewelry again and noticed now it was completed. The bird was fitted over the golden nest. Her body was trembling and she would like him to think it was because she was sodden and cold.

"Now it's whole"

He came in closer. He looked deeply into her striking blue-gray eyes. He caught another whiff of her perfume.

"Yeah. Now it's whole," he whispered.

Something stirred deep inside of Bruce. A pleasant memory of her innocence, disinhibition and generosity, the sweet fervor of her mouth. All these things used to be a genuine and not calculated act.

Miranda tensed when he walked gracefully towards her and stopped a few inches away. He was very close to her but even so she was surprised to see the look in his dark eyes. He kissed her sweetly. She retreated from the kiss but kept herself in the embrace. Then, after a few seconds, kissed him back passionately as he was feeling her soft curves through their soggy garments. Suddenly the lights went out.

"What's that?" she asked.

Bruce looked at her sheepishly.

"You know how to change a fuse?"

This time she laughed out loud.

Her eyes found his. Every time she looked at Bruce, Miranda could see his desire, a mesmerizing glow that lured her with a magnetic force. She swallowed hard with effort and shook her head in thought.

She had come so determined and now she could feel herself melting towards him, surrendered to him again.

"I think I should leave right now," she whispered.

Gently, he took her face in one hand.

"I need you tonight, Miranda."

It was not an order, nor a exigency. It was a statement. His honest and sweet tone captured her.

"Why me, Bruce?" the question escaped from her lips. They still felt inexplicably attracted to each other and this was the last thing she had wanted.

But there they were. The man she had sworn to despise and the woman he could not love. She nibbled at her bottom lip.

"You could have conquered any woman..."

"It's not my style," he said and Miranda raised her eyebrows, which made him add: "Not anymore."

Bruce wrapped her in his strong arms again, pulling her against him and holding her close.

"We're not spending the night talking. I promise to answer all your questions in the morning. Stay, honey."

He took her hand and they started walking toward another room where there was fireplace.

* * *

A short time later, they nestled together in front of a crackling fire. Wet clothes lay discarded upon the floor. Heaps of fluffy cushions and comforters formed a cozy love nest in front of the hearth.

Bruce loved making love with Miranda. She was sensitive and responsive to every touch from him, every caress. She liked sex and he thought that few women actually enjoyed it. They moved their bodies to please the man, but did not like to take the initiative.

Miranda enjoyed the physical side of love, to establish a connection with the partner. She used to throw caution to the wind, had no inhibitions and gave herself completely to the pleasure. Although she had not experienced it too much since Bruce had been gone.

Just seeing her lying amid a pile of blankets, with her wet hair spreading across the pillow and waiting for him, Bruce became lost. Miranda was aroused with him as much as he was with her and that increased further his desire. It had been a long time since he had rested in the arms of a beautiful woman.

Naked and feeling his body on fire, he lay down beside her on the makeshift bed. Bruce took her in his arms and made love to her in a powerful, slow and hopeless way, as there was no tomorrow.

Because there was no tomorrow.

Miranda was tired of playing games with him.

He enchanted her completely and, when he was out of breath and panting over her body, she could almost forget that Bruce had hurt her in every possible way. But she could not allow herself such luxury. He had chosen by himself to be her enemy.

However, everything inside her wanted to forget what Bruce had done and who he was. She wanted him. Period.

After tomorrow, he would be out of her life forever. She would arrange for that to happen. This night was the last night of them.

And she was planning to use the time they had together with intelligence.

After their first climax together, Bruce rolled aside and lay down on his back. His body was covered in a thin layer of sweat because of the heat they had created. He looked at Miranda whose skin was glowing as a result of the love they had made.

She was so beautiful. Sometimes he thought Miranda was fragile and innocent. He shook his head in denial at the idea that Miranda could be one of those two things. In the past she might have been, but not anymore.

She lifted her head and allured him with a beautiful smile.

"Why are you shaking your head?"

Bruce pulled the air to his lungs. He would say only half true.

"Because of you. You are more than I've expected."

The tone of his voice was sweet and sincere, which destroyed her inside. Miranda replied calmly, running a finger around his mouth.

"So are you, Beloved."

Bruce stared at her. It was the first time in a long time he heard the affectionate word she had used to refer to him.

"Ready for a second round?" he asked, horny again.

She smiled and touched him below his waist.

"Ready. But one of us is going to get knockout, sooner or later."

Bruce moaned.

"Later. Very much later."

She clung to him and parted her thighs. Without hesitation, she lowered her body and he closed his eyes for a moment with the sublime sensation that Miranda provided when she was moving against him.

He held her by her back arched and watched her movements, her head thrown back, the dark hair still damp falling down her back.

He knew that Miranda's body would not stand it one more second. He felt her muscles contracting, squeezing him, and saw the look of pure pleasure on her face when she was releasing herself.

Bruce waited her last spasms, then he held her by her hips, took the initiative and started to move, thrusting his body toward her. That was all he needed, as Miranda's maddened orgasm left him very aroused.

She rested, leaning against him, her breasts touching Bruce's chest, and he thought that life could never be better.

Sex better than that, surely, there would never be.

Bruce held her until her body relaxed, so he succumbed, banishing all disturbing thoughts from his mind.

For the first time in years, he didn't think about Rachel.

* * *

Moments later, Miranda extricated herself from Bruce's arms long enough to tend the blaze.

"You're pretty good at that," he commented.

She stirred the burning logs, the glow of the fire burnishing her bare skin.

"When I was a child we had almost nothing," she said, and her voice sounded distant. "But on the nights when we had a fire, we felt very rich, indeed."

She returned and snuggled beside him once more, drawing the covers over them. It warmed him more than any fire, he thought.

"I assumed your family was wealthy," he said. It dawned on him how little he had cared to learn about her. She had always been reticent to talk about her past and Bruce had never tried to force her to do so.

"Not always. Not when I was very young."

A pale birthmark the size of his thumbnail was noticed on her shoulder. He gently traced it with his finger.

"Have you still been so enthralled by my mark?" she asked.

"I've got a few marks over the years too," he declared grinning.

His chest bore a complicated tapestry of scars, left over from the years of arduous physical training, and his career as the Batman. A burn from the fire that had engulfed Rā's al Ghūl's temple. An old scar where the Joker had once stabbed him.

She explored them by the firelight, tracing the scars across his chest.

"More than a few, I guess," she said concerned, without looking into his eyes. "Mine is a birthmark. These are scars." She lift her eyes and looked at his face. He remained in silence. She took a breath and exhaled slowly.

"I waited seven years for you to call, or write, and say you were okay! I missed you more than anything," she told.

He realized that her voice was full of pain.

"And then when I finally thought I would see you again, you started to avoid me. What are you gonna do now? What is gonna happen with us?"

Bruce was taken aback by the flurry of questions from Miranda. He did not know what to answer.

"Well," he started, "I was thinking we take things one step at time."

"We could leave. Tonight. Take my plane. Go anywhere we wanted. Leave it all behind."

It was tempting, he mused, especially after eight lonely years. But then he remembered Gordon in that hospital bed – and there was Bane. The city needed him.

"Not yet. Not tonight."

He pulled her close, inviting his kisses. They folded into each other, forming a warm, beating heart at the center of the cold, empty house.

Bruce lost himself in the moment – and in her.

They made love with slowness and abandonment, surrendering themselves to sensuality, going through all the paths of pleasure until they were sated, then they slept.


	20. Ch18Prey

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XVIII - Prey**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Hours later, Bruce was still there with his arms around her, feeling the soft breeze of her breathing. She slept like an angel, wrapped up in a blanket near the dying fire. Part of him – a part that had been dormant for eight long years – wanted to stay with her. But that wasn't possible. He needed to focus to do what was necessary.

Unable to resist, he lowered his fingers, simply wanting to touch her. He traced the lines of her face, gently pushing back a tendril of hair that rested close to her mouth. Then he bent and gently kissed her forehead, closing his eyes and allowing his mouth to rest there for the briefest of moments.

Gently he untangled himself from Miranda's arms, not wanting to disturb her and left the makeshift bed. Despite his determination, he could not stop studying her sleeping form for a few precious moments. He was grateful for the warmth she had brought back into his life. He thought of waking up by her side every morning, not just for a week or two, but for the rest of their lives. Was that what his father had felt for his mother? He pushed the image out of his mind.

Then he silently slipped away.

_Sorry, Miranda_, he said silently. _I've gotta go._

Bruce had been a boy who had grown up afraid to love again because of the pain. The pain of losing a loved one.

Once, when Rachel had been still alive, he had confided to Alfred that, if he had not become Batman, he would be married to her, they would have three kids and would live deliriously happy. The wise butler had replied that he could not be certain of that. And he had been right.

Of course, he had loved Rachel, but she had represented a fixation Bruce had with his past, with a lost childhood innocence that was simply never going to come back no matter how much he wanted it to. He also had been infatuated with the ideas and ideals Rachel had represented rather than loving her for the person she was.

Finding out Rachel, in her own heart, had had already moved on while he hadn't, gave him a new perspective. Maybe he had missed the opportunity to have a beautiful life along with Miranda. He had been a fool. And thanks to his selfishness, he had been about to lose the woman he really loved because of a delusion that had existed only in his mind.

A grandfather clock tolled midnight out in the hall, reminding him that he had an appointment to keep – with somebody else. He crept quietly into the study and took the hidden elevator down to the Batcave. His working clothes waited for him in their locked closet. He took the cowl from the shelf.

If all went well, he might get back before Miranda woke up. If not... well, he would have some explaining to do. It wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

_**Over the skies above Gotham City**_

Minutes later, the Bat was roaring toward downtown Gotham. The lights of the city were spread out beneath the aircraft like glittering jewels just waiting to be stolen by the thieves and murderers who were his quarry. Late-night traffic cruised the streets hundreds of feet below.

Nearing the rendezvous spot, Batman killed the headlights and main engines. The Bat went into stealth mode as it quietly auto-rotated down into the city's sleeping concrete canyons. He checked the digital chronometer.

It was a quarter past midnight.

_Right on time_, he thought.

* * *

_**In a tunnel at the ancient Robinson Central Terminal, Gotham City**_

As arranged, DJ was waiting in a subway tunnel, just beyond the lit passenger platform. He paced impatiently along a service walkway, watching the trains go by. His dark stealth costume with a hood covering his head allowed him to blend in with the shadows. Night-vision goggles let him scan the tunnel in both directions.

All at once, he stopped pacing.

"Don't be shy," he said playfully.

Batman was impressed. There weren't many people he couldn't sneak up on when he wanted to do so. He didn't know what sort of training the boy might have received, but his own had been extensive.

Batman emerged from the darkness, joining DJ in the tunnel.

"Wayne says you want me to taking you to Bane," the young man said without preamble.

" Yeah. What do you know about him?" he asked gruffly. The boy eyed him and kept quiet for a moment.

" That you should be as afraid of him as I am," he declared warily.

" I can offer you protection," Batman replied.

DJ stared at him with hope and then with contempt, as if Batman had no idea what he was talking about.

Damian had stolen the fingerprints Bane had used to wipe out Bruce Wayne's fortune. With Daggett dead, he was now Batman's only link to the master terrorist. He hoped the boy could lead him to Bane's underground lair – the one Gordon had stumbled onto nights ago. He was certain the cops hadn't found it yet.

For a second, DJ looked as if he might try to talk him out of it, then he shrugged.

"You asked," the boy said, and without a warning he sprang down onto the tracks, making not a sound. Batman followed closely behind him as DJ led him into a murky service tunnel.

"From here, Bane's men patrol the tunnels... and they are not your average brawlers, " DJ spoke over his shoulder as he was walking.

"Neither am I," Batman replied.

DJ swung into a sewer tunnel. Footsteps echoed up ahead. He signaled Batman before grabbing onto a hanging pipe and swinging up and out of sight. Following the boy lead, Batman blended into the darkness.

A mercenary was patrolling the tunnel. Leather jacket, military fatigue, and automatic weapon made it clear that this man wasn't maintenance worker, nor was an ordinary thug. The hooded boy came up behind.

"He's behind you," he warned.

The lead mercenary spun around in surprise. His eyes widened at the sight of the hooded intruder. Confusion was written over his face.

"Who?" he demanded.

Batman dropped from the ceiling, hanging upside-down like the creature that was his namesake.

"Me," he growled.

Darkness smashed onto the mercenary. A gunfire started in the tunnel. DJ raced along, pursued by a mercenary who was yanked off his feet by darkness. Then he screamed.

_Two down_, Batman thought.

He picked off more and more mercenaries. The screams echoed through the tunnels. He kept following DJ through the dark tunnel and onto a long metal catwalk. The shadows were too deep for him to find details in his surroundings, but he heard runoff water rushing beneath them like an underground river. The lack of odor indicated that the water had been purified.

"Just a little further," the young man promised.

A heavy steel grate slammed down between them, like a portcullis in a medieval fortress. Bright halogen lights flared overhead, exposing a lair hidden deep within the sewers. A small army of mercenaries glared down from various elevated gantries and platforms. The catwalk led between twin waterfalls that poured into a foaming channel one level below. There was some kind of headquarters located beyond the waterfalls – much like in the Batcave.

When DJ realized it was a trap, he tried to force opening the grate but he was grabbed by two strong mercenaries that prevented him from doing so.

"Hey! Get your dirty hands out of me," he shouted. "You've made a serious mistake."

Batman watched helpless and before he could do anything a deep voice interjected.

"Not as serious as both of yours, I fear."

Batman turned to see a masked figure emerge from behind the falling curtains of water. He recognized the man's elaborate mask and powerful physique from the grisly security footage Alfred had shown him before. Muscles rippled upon the killer's bare chest.

"Bane."

The infamous mercenary approached him.

"Let's not stand on ceremony here, Mr. Wayne."

Batman wasn't surprised that Bane knew his true identity. The man was connected to the League of Shadows, after all – he likely had heard of Bruce Wayne's tangled history with Rā's al Ghūl.

DJ, on the other hand, was visibly taken aback by the revelation. _Omigod. I've knew it,_ he thought. A look of regret came over the boy's face, if he should have tried to persuade the Dark Knight get out of that place before.

"Your quarrel is with me. Let the boy go," he growled.

Bane murdered those people at the stock exchange – and nearly killed Jim Gordon.

_I can't let him hurt anyone else._

"The boy will get what he asked for," Bane declared.

Without hesitation he launched himself toward his enemy. His cloak spreading out behind him, he swooped at Bane, drawing back his fist to deliver a knockout blow. His clenched knuckles flew at Bane, who caught it easily with his bare hand, squeezing it until the bones ground together.

Grunting, Batman attempted a gut punch with his other fist, but the mercenary effortlessly blocked the blow. He had, indeed, been trained by Rā's al Ghūl and the League of Shadows.

"Peace has cost you your strength," Bane declared. "Victory has defeated you."

Stronger and faster than anyone Batman had ever fought before – even in his prime – Bane slammed into Batman, knocking him backward. A roundhouse kick swept his legs out from under him, sending him tumbling off the catwalk toward the raging sewers below. Batman hastily extended his cape, using it to glide down onto a concrete ledge located near the base of the waterfalls. He winced in pain, bruised even beneath his protective armor.

This wasn't going well…

Bane clambered after him, swinging down on a chain, while his men watched in disciplined silence, enjoying the duel. Hoping to buy some time, Batman plucked a handful of miniature flash-bangs from his utility belt and flung them at his pursuer. The charges went off like firecrackers, producing a disorienting barrage of sparks, noise, and smoke.

Yet Bane didn't even flinch.

"Theatricality and deception are powerful agents," he acknowledged, quoting the timeless wisdom of Rā's al Ghūl. "To the uninitiated."

_Alfred was right_, Batman realized. This man was not to be underestimated. _It's going to take everything I have to beat him – if it's even possible._

Determined to put Bane on the defensive, Batman lunged at him again, striking out with his fists and boots. Bane effortlessly countered his moves. It was like fighting Rā's again, except that Bane was younger and stronger than their shared mentor. He targeted the weak spots in Batman's body armor, inflicting the maximum pain possible, while seeming to possess no weaknesses of his own.

They broke apart, facing off between the flowing channels. Bane looked like he was just warming up.

"But we are the initiated, aren't we, Bruce? The League of Shadows." He glared at Batman over the bizarre mask that hid the bottom half of his face. Scorn dripped from his voice. Air hissed from the mask. "And you betrayed us…"

"Us?" Batman echoed. "You were excommunicated – from a gang of psychopaths."

Bane rejected the accusation.

"Now I am the League of Shadows," he said, "here to fulfill Rā's al Ghūl's destiny…"

By destroying Gotham?

_Never_, Batman thought. Too many good people – including Miranda, Rachel, Dent and his parents – had worked too hard to make the city a decent place to live. This masked lunatic needed to be stopped – just like the Joker and Rā's al Ghūl.

He hurled himself at his opponent, knocking him onto his back beneath the foaming waterfall, where Batman hammered his masked face again and again. Clear water cascaded over them, making the Dark Knight's black armor gleam slickly. Any normal thug would already be out cold, but Bane just absorbed the blows until Batman took a moment to catch his breath.

He let up, just for a moment, and Bane's brawny arms shot out like rockets, smashing Batman aside.

The mercenary rose to his feet.

"You fight like a younger man," he said, his voice betraying no hint of the punishment he had received. "Nothing held back. No reserves." He flexed his own muscles as he advanced. "Admirable. But mistaken."

Batman was breathing hard. He realized Bane was right. Eight years of retirement had taken its toll on his endurance and reflexes. He wasn't the same man who had defeated Rā's al Ghūl nearly a decade ago. That Batman had just begun his career.

A smarter strategy was needed. He flipped a switch on his belt, triggering an EMP that knocked out all the lights, throwing them all into total darkness. Then he retreated into the sheltering blackness. Night-vision lenses in his cowl allowed him to keep an eye on his adversary, who seemed to take the blackout in his stride.

Bane turned slowly, addressing the all-encompassing shadows. He didn't seem worried.

"You think darkness is your ally," Bane said. "But you merely adopted the dark. I was born in it. Formed by it…"

Moving as silently as a ghost, Batman circled, looking for an opening. There had to be some way to bring the other man down. He just needed to strike when and where Bane least expected. And he needed to make it count.

_This could be my last chance._

"I didn't see light until I was already a man. And by then it was nothing to me but blinding."

Without warning, Bane lunged backward into the darkness and caught Batman's throat in his grasp. Only the reinforced neckpiece kept his windpipe from being crushed in an instant.

"The shadows betray you, because they belong to me…"

He slammed Batman into the concrete floor, hard enough to dash any other man's brains out. His bare fists pounded on Batman's cowl with unbelievable force, blow after blow smashing down like a jackhammer. Concussed and breathless, Batman couldn't fight back as Bane hammered on the cowl until finally, incredibly, the hard graphite shell cracked.

_No,_ Batman thought. _That's not possible._

One final blow put him down for the count. Bane rose, towering above his battered foe. He gestured upward at the vaulted ceiling high above the vast subterranean chamber. Through blood-streaked eyes, Batman saw that a series of holes had been drilled into the ceiling. Explosive charges had been placed in each of them.

_But why? _he wondered through the pain. _To what purpose?_

"I will show you," Bane said, "where I've made my home while preparing to bring justice to Gotham. Then…I will break you."

A mercenary tossed a detonator to Bane. His men backed away, seeking shelter inside tunnels and alcoves. DJ watched anxiously from the other side of the grate. He tried to cover his ears and the men who kept him captive allowed him to do that. Helplessly witnessing Gotham's champion take a beating like that made him sick to his stomach.

Bane pressed the button.

The charges went off, causing a controlled implosion high above their heads. Thunderous echoes rocked the chamber, hurting Batman's ears.

The ceiling caved in and rubble rained down into the sewers, splashing water everywhere.

Artificial light poured down from above, revealing the lower levels of Applied Sciences.

_It can't be,_ Batman thought in horror. Then realization struck home. _We were under Wayne Tower all this time._

The bottom had dropped out of Lucius Fox's secret weapons storehouse. Dangerous prototypes lay scattered about like treats from some deadly, high-tech piñata. A tumbler, its desert camouflage of little use in these dismal catacombs, landed atop a pile of rubble. Loose papers and bits of ash wafted down through the jagged gap in the ceiling.

"No," Batman murmured weakly.

"Your precious armory," Bane confirmed. "Gratefully accepted." He swept his gaze over the fallen spoils. "We will need it."

_To wage war on Gotham?_

Bane's men clambered up into the violated bunker. They moved efficiently, ransacking Applied Sciences even as security alarms blared stridently. The mercenaries set up a bucket brigade to hand the stolen goods from each man to the next, down into the tunnels. The other tumblers were hauled toward the gap.

_I can't let this happen_, Batman thought. _I can't…_He staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily. His cracked cowl slipped, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His head was swimming. The entire chamber seemed be spinning around him, and he felt sick to his stomach. Through the fog, he recognized the symptoms of a serious concussion.

Nevertheless, he raised his fists.

Bane turned back toward him.

"I wondered which would break first – your spirit…"

Batman threw a punch, but didn't come close to connecting. Bane lunged forward and lifted his foe high above his head. Batman tried to twist free of the grasp, but could not get away.

He had nothing left.

"…or your body," Bane concluded.

Savagely, Bane brought Batman down onto his knee, forcibly bending the Dark Knight's spine backward. A horrific crack echoed throughout the lair.

"Nooo!" DJ shouted out loud. The two strong mercenaries grabbed him again. To DJ's dismay, he did not just become conscious of the harm that those men were inflicting but also at his own concern of Bruce Wayne and Batman being the same person.

At that, Bane dumped Batman onto the ground, to lie helplessly in the puddles. He crouched and tugged the cracked cowl off his victim, exposing the battered and bloody face of Bruce Wayne. Then he beckoned to his men, who picked up the limp, unresisting body and carried it off into the tunnels. Bane held onto the cowl as a trophy.

Standing triumphant beneath Wayne Tower, he contemplated the hollow, empty eyes of the Dark Knight's cowl.

He turned to the men who were keeping DJ and ordered:

"The boy needs to learn a lesson."

So they slunk away into the shadows, taking DJ with them.


	21. Ch19Sins Of A Mother - Pt 1

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XIX - Sins Of A Mother - Part I**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The great room was cold by the time Miranda awoke. She rolled onto her side and realized that Bruce was not there anymore. Images from the night before crossed her mind still half asleep. They made love three times throughout the night and each time was more exciting, more intimate than the last. She smiled at the memory. Her body kept memories of Bruce's touches.

Feeling floating between past and present, Miranda remembered how she had fallen for him.

Too quickly, ignoring the voice of reason, saying that it was not real, it could not be real. A fantasy of shared dinners, laughters, tours, a movie she had wanted to watch. The goodbye kiss at the end of the night, and the knowledge that mere kisses would never be enough. The night she had gone to his apartment, and willingly to his bed ... giving him innocently her virginity, her heart, her soul.

Their love affair lasted long enough before Miranda had done what had become her biggest mistake. In the first sun rays of the morning after a night they had spent making love, she had told him that she loved him. Just to have her heart destroyed in millions of pieces when Bruce had brushed his lips on her forehead and had spoken that he did not love her – at least not like she had deserved to be loved – and he could not love anyone.

Totally and completely helpless, she had delighted at his touch, believing that Bruce's apparent ecstasy had equaled her own, only to discover that her imagination was playing tricks on her.

Then he had left without even saying goodbye and had been absent for a long time. He had been reported as missing and many years had passed before she could find out, through her biological father, he had been alive but captive in a Bhutanese prison. He had been released by her father who had offered to train him in the arts of stealth and fear as a member of the League of Shadows.

Miranda's true father had considered him as his best student, his successor. However, Bruce had betrayed the League, her father's trust and eventually had become responsible for the death of his mentor.

It had been necessary a tremendous effort to try to forget Bruce's existence. Impossible, when his image had haunted her in vivid dreams during her long lonely nights and his name, along with pictures, appeared in the media in connection with another victory in his business. Or when a photo of a beautiful woman at his side had been displayed in gossip session.

Then the perfect opportunity had come up. The perfect partnership. Vengeance against the man who had discarded her like an old newspaper and had killed her father was simply a reward for her patience...

Woo him and win a place of trust beside him was easier than she had thought. But she was not prepared to fall in love again. She knew she was completely surrendered to his charms. She nibbled on her lower lip, more confused than ever.

_And what now?_

Miranda blinked as she was taken away from her thoughts by the insistent sms tone of her smartphone. She just received a text message. As she read it, her whole face expression started to change and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

**I DID MY PART. NOW IT'S YOUR TURN.**

A sob tore from her throat. Her stomach sank and a single tear ran down her cheek. It was done.

She dressed herself as quickly as possible, headed out from the mansion and drove to her apartment.

* * *

Already dressed in his civil clothes, Damian knocked impatiently at the door of Wayne Manor. It was the middle of the afternoon, but no one answered. He was expecting to find at least Alfred Pennyworth – the faithful butler. He was so badly wounded that he could barely stand. He was in need of urgent help and thought the old butler was the only person he could trust right now. Especially because he should be one of few people to know of the nocturnal activities of his employer.

Worried, he nosed around the windows, yet couldn't spot any signs of life inside the mansion.

A pair of French windows showed evidence of having been forced open.

_Not a good sign_, he thought. Bruce Wayne had important secrets to protect.

He could not go back to the Monarch Theater because it could endanger the lives of his friends. Then he made an important decision and decided to look for the only person who could provide some sort of refuge away from Bane's thugs. With any luck she would believe his story.

* * *

_**Miranda's Loft, Midtown District, Gotham City**_

Miranda cursed as she heard the doorbell ringing and remained where she was, crouched, hoping that whoever it was would just give up and walk away, leaving her alone to continue to packing. But the bell rang again, this time almost imperiously. A scary thought crossed her mind.

_He wouldn't have the nerve to come here, would he_? she thought.

She muttered under his breath again, stood up and walked out of her bedroom without the slightest mood to be stopped at the time she had to gather her stuff and leave the city behind.

She went downstairs and opened the door, encountering a teenager wrapped in a frayed gray coat.

"Yes?" Miranda asked, wondering who would be the visitor. She braced herself for the worst. The kid could be one of Bane's men.

"Are you Miss Tate? Miranda... Tate?" he asked.

Miranda studied the stranger carefully. His dark hair was plastered to his head and his striking blue eyes were highlighted on his pale face. It was obvious that he was nervous.

"Yeah. Do I know you?"

The boy took a breath.

"I suppose so. My name's Damian. I'm your son."

Mortified, she felt her mouth go dry. She stepped back and stared at the teenager before her. She must have misheard.

"It's some terrible mistake," she mumbled with difficulty. Damian glared at her and frowned.

"I'm very sorry but there was nothing I could do to ease the shock of revelation," he said flatly.

"You don't understand ... you made a mistake ..." she insisted.

"You and someone had a kid. You gave up that kid. I am that kid," he declared.

Without a word, Damian picked up an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I was adopted when I was two days old," he explained. "The staff at St Swithin's found it stuck to the blanket that had been wrapped around me."

With trembling hands, Miranda opened the envelope. A tiny medical ID bracelet of adhesive plaster fell into the palm of her hand. She picked it up, examining it carefully, knowing what she was going to see. A name written in large and faded block letters: TATE.

Miranda held her breath, shuddering. She had seen the nurse putting that adhesive tape ring around the baby's left wrist soon after his birth. Then the woman allowed her to hold the baby in her arms for a few moments. She could still hear the cries of the child as the nurse had got him away from her to take him to the nursery. She had broken into tears and thought she would never stop crying. Breathing hard, she looked up to Damian.

"Why did you come here?" she asked accusingly. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

What that kid could want with her? Was he telling the truth? Miranda fought against the urge to close the door. The eyes of the stranger showed up supplicants and overcame her resistance.

"Come in," she said quietly.

The boy stepped forward and staggered but, before he could fall with strong impact to the ground, she reacted in time, grabbing and leading him to the nearest couch in the living room.

"Whoa," she exclaimed surprised. "Here. Sit down. Are you okay?"

Weakened, he noticed the necklace with the robin pendant hanging around her neck.

"He gave it back to you ..." he said in a small voice before losing consciousness.

* * *

Moments later, Miranda shook the bracelet in her hands silently. How could she know for sure that this boy was indeed the son she had given up for adoption fifteen years ago? How could she believe without reservation?

There was only one way to know.

Suddenly Damian awoke with the nagging sense that he had missed something. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to move but his body felt leaden.

"Hey, kid! Are you okay?" she asked.

He slowly turned his head toward the voice and gradually recognized the face leaning over him.

"Fine," he murmured.

"Luckily you woke up. We need to go to a hospital. You are badly hurt. Maybe with some sort of fracture or serious internal injuries." Her concern was genuine. "What happened?"

He tried to sit up and a sharp pain returned, forcing him to let himself fall on the cushions again.

"Be quiet. Everything's gonna be alright."

_Alright? Nothing was right,_ she thought.

"I can't go to a hospital. Not until I'll find a way to stop them trying to kill me. He's after me," he explained.

"Who?" she asked afraid of the answer.

"The masked man. A mercenary."

"Bane," she whispered abruptly. Her heart was beating so hard he must be able to hear it and she was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

"Do you know about him?" the boy asked curious.

"More than I'd like to," she answered warily.

"Bat..." he interrupted himself in time. "Mr. Wayne... he is... was in trouble," he said hesitantly.

The name got her attention. She didn't say anything, but he could tell she was hiding something, and it seemed to bother her. His eyes entreated her. He still was not sure if he could trust her and did not know how much she knew about Wayne and Batman.

"I looked for Mr. Pennyworth but I couldn't find him. You're Wayne's friend... I guess," he continued weakly.

"Did they kill him?" she asked but couldn't meet his gaze. He found her question odd. In fact she seemed to know more than he had supposed.

"I'm not sure," he confessed.

Miranda's heart sank.

"That's why I came looking for you. Please, Miss Tate. I have nobody else to ask. Please. Do you believe me?" he pleaded, his voice was tired.

She had no answer. If she said yes, she would be taking the risk of ruining her plans and the boy's life. If she said no... How could she say no? Apparently he was her son. Her only son. But he had no right to convulse everyone's lives.

"I don't know what to say," she finally said.

"I don't fool myself, but I had no other option," the boy admitted.

Miranda was struggling in doubt, unable to decide what to say or not. However, looking at the suffered and anxious boy's face, she made a decision.

"How did you find out about me?"

"I've always known I was adopted. My adoptive parents are deceased. Recently I've found the ID bracelet identity among the records at the orphanage. I crossed the data with hospital records and the names in the phonebook. I saw your name. Besides, you left behind something that had belonged to you, " he glanced to her necklace. "I wouldn't come here if it were not absolutely necessary."

She touched the necklace. She had so many questions.

She thought about Bruce. If he were still alive and knew about Damian he would want to know him better. If he were still alive... Bruce knew about the boy? How he had managed to retrieve the jewel?

Shock, disbelief, fear, anger, panic and a sharp twinge of something else she did not recognize exploded inside her, like a bomb with an intensity so powerful that it drained all the energy from her body, leaving her weak and trembling in the face of the violent assault of so many emotions.

"I need to see something in your lower back," she spat.

"What? Why?" he asked, his facial expression showing slight confusion.

"Just let me..." she asked, reaching out a trembling hand.

Obediently and cautiously, Damian turned around a little and lifted up his shirt exposing several purple bruises. However, it was a birthmark of the size of an adult's thumbnail that got her attention.

Miranda gasped and he broke away.

"What is it?"

She stared at him, unable to speak. He was tall like his father and grandfather. His eyes were the same color as hers.

"You have a birthmark just like mine. Though mine is on my shoulder," she said with teary eyes.

Damian smiled and she wanted to do a caress over her son's bruised face.

"You're gonna stay here," she affirmed. _Till I figure out what to do about my life_, she added in thought.

"I hope that my first aid knowledge can come up with the goods for now," she said smiling.

He nodded his head.

"Call me Miranda. I think much formality would make it more difficult."

"You can call me DJ," he stated, discovering that he already was liking her.


	22. Ch20Despair

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. All credits goes to Greg Cox with regards to the prison pit part. Don't forget to write a few words of review after you read this chapter.  
_

* * *

**XX - Despair**

_**Miranda's Loft, Midtown District, Gotham City**_

Hours later, Miranda sought refuge in the master suite's bathroom, torn by conflicting emotions. All the guilt she had felt when giving her baby up for adoption returned with violence upon Damian Blake's arrival and she saw her whole life on the edge of destruction. She was going to pay for what she had done, for what she was doing.

Her son was back. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her body, trying to absorb the shock and stop the wave of excitement that made her shiver uncontrollably. Sometimes she had dared to hope to meet him again, since the time she had given him up for adoption years ago.

"My baby." Her voice, strangled with emotion, was not but an inaudible whisper. She waited for the tears to come, but her eyes remained dry. There was no tear left for her to shed after that eternal despair she had lived.

While tending his wounds and left him comfortable she learned that his adoptive parents had been very loving people.

Damian must have suffered a lot with the death of his foster parents. And still seemed to be suffering. She knew the feeling. He needed a lot of love and support to find himself and she needed to help him.

However, she had more urgent matters to worry about. And that masked demon would not leave her in peace until she did not continue with their deal.

* * *

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

Feverish images dragged him up from the dark. Screams, sobs, and maniacal laughter surrounded him. Broken bodies crashed to earth. He was falling down a long dark shaft. A black, skull-like visage gazed down on him, coming closer and closer…

Bruce opened his eyes, drifting back to consciousness.

Disoriented, he found himself lying on his back on a rough wooden cot. He stared upward at a sooty stone roof that looked as though it had been carved from solid rock. He glimpsed prison bars out of the corner of his eye. His Batsuit was gone, replaced by coarse, filthy rags. His head throbbed and his throat was parched.

Whiskers carpeted his pale, clammy face. He tried to sit up, only to experience an excruciating jolt of pain. He sank back onto the cot, gasping in agony.

It all came back to him.

Bane. Wayne Tower. His back bent backwards until…

Someone stirred to his right, and he realized that he wasn't alone in the cell. He tried to roll over to see who it was, but even the attempt was torture.

Heavy footsteps approached the cot. A massive figure squatted beside him. Densely muscled shoulders curved upward into a thick neck supporting a familiar masked face. The dark skull from his fever dreams seemed to gaze down on him.

_Bane._

"Why didn't you just kill me?" Bruce rasped, his throat sore from disuse.

"You don't fear death," Bane answered. "You welcome it." He shook his head. "Your punishment is to be more severe."

Bruce understood now. He glared furiously at his captor.

"You're a torturer…"

"Yes," Bane agreed. "But not of your body. Of your soul."

Bruce tried to hold onto his anger, but the pain was too great. He let out a sharp gasp. Bane blurred before his eyes as he felt the darkness encroaching on his vision. He fought to stay conscious.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"Home," Bane replied. "Where I learned the truth about despair. As will you."

Bruce forced himself to look around, turning his head as little as possible. Through the rusty iron bars of his cell, he glimpsed what appeared to be an enormous underground complex carved into the sides of a gigantic pit. Metal stairs and catwalks connected rows of terraces that led into deep, cavernous cell blocks. The entire structure resembled a huge inverted pyramid or ziggurat that was almost Escheresque in appearance.

Wretched figures clad in frayed peasant garb populated the place, trudging wearily about their labors. There appeared to be no guards – only prisoners. Angry shouts and screams came from the other cells. The early morning sunlight filtered down from a vast circular shaft rising hundreds of feet above the bottom of the pit. Higher up, crumbling ledges and outcroppings jutted from the weathered stone sides.

It was like being at the bottom of a colossal well.

Bane rose from Bruce's bedside and crossed the cell to the bars.

"There is a reason that this prison is the worst hell on earth." He lifted his masked countenance toward the distant sunlight. "Hope. Every man who has rotted here over the centuries has looked up to the light, and imagined climbing to freedom. So simple, so easy. And, like shipwrecked men turning to seawater from uncontrollable thirst, many have died trying. I learned here that there can be no true despair without hope." He looked away from the light, fixing his pitiless gaze on Bruce.

"So as I terrorize Gotham, I will feed its people hope to poison their souls. I will let them believe they can survive, so that you can watch them clamber over each other to stay in the sun." He pointed to an ancient-looking television set up just outside the bars of Bruce's cell. A cable ran from the television into the crude, rough-hewn masonry.

"You will watch," Bane continued, "as I torture an entire city to bring you pain you thought you could never truly feel again. Then, when you have truly understood the depths of your failure, we will fulfill Rā's al Ghūl's destiny. We will destroy Gotham. And when it is done – when Gotham is ashes – then you have my permission to die."

Bane turned to depart, leaving Bruce alone in the dismal cell. A barred door swung shut, its rusty hinges squeaking in protest. He wanted to shout at Bane, say something defiant, but it would have been nothing but an empty gesture. He couldn't even move without agony.

The pain overwhelmed him again and the darkness swept over him. His eyes drooped and fell shut.

He could still hear the screams, even in his sleep.

* * *

_**Miranda's Loft, Midtown District, Gotham City**_

Damian woke up and Miranda had already left long ago. A wave of panic struck over him. He rose to his feet slowly. His body was still very sore. She had made a good job taking care of his wounds. As if she had done this many times before.

He had no idea how many hours or days he had slept, because he had had a fever that left him practically unconscious.

Suddenly he found a note from her, saying she had had to go to work but would return later. The note suggested a list of things that he could or could not do. He smiled at her concern. She fit in the role of mother very quickly. It appeared they had done that in their whole lives.

Then he looked toward the great windows of her loft and his smile faded under the familiar gut-wrenching nausea, anger and terror. He was out there... somewhere. Bane.

If he would found out a connection between Miranda and Damian or Bruce, he could harm her life too.

Damian used to dream that one day he could save enough money to get rid of the yoke of a life on crime. However, only a few days before the idea had really begun to take shape in his mind. Only then he had the courage to go after his true origins.

* * *

When Miranda returned to her loft she walked silently and stopped a few feet of the one who was said to be her child. _Oh, God!_ That lad of more than 5'7'' tall, who stood looking at the city skyline with apparent tranquility, was indeed her child. In a certain way, she had always imagined that someday she would have a chance of meeting him again, but the only image of him she had engraved in her mind was of chubby baby with rosy cheeks. However, fate had placed her before the broad back of a young man.

Overcome with emotion, she suppressed a sob, her view suddenly darkening. With difficulty, she attempted to regain control. She had the impression that her feet were rooted to the ground. She could not move or emit no sound. She would like to run and take the boy in her arms, as she had so often dreamed. But she just stared at him, not knowing how to act.

She called him quietly but he did not answer immediately.

Miranda's voice seemed to come from far away. Only then Damian realized that she was back, thankfully. He watched her coming close to him, staring at him differently. She was his mother. She was very beautiful and there was no arrogance in her expression.

"Are you okay?" she asked concerned.

"I'm here. I'm fine. I... it's just hard..."

"I know. All this is still very surreal. ... You've just appeared over my door's threshold ... It was a tremendous shock," she murmured. "I'm glad you haven't gone."

"Even if I wanted – and I don't – you locked me in here."

"I doubt this will stop him from leaving," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Come," she called him and headed toward the kitchen.

The boy followed her to the counter that connected the living room with the kitchen and the two sat on opposite benches.

"Where'd you learn to take care so well of injuries like these?" he asked.

"I've had training."

During the time she had been training under the League of Shadows, Miranda had learned many things, some which no school would dare to teach.

"There's so much I wanna know. But I don't know how to ask. Don't know where to start"

"So do I. What if we take turns?" she proposed.

He nodded his head and then took the initiative to speak a little more about his life, omitting of course his criminal record. He did not want to scare her or that she saw him as a charity case.

He told about his mother's fight against a form of progressive disease and the desperate efforts of his father to ensure comfort to his wife, which had involved expensive and high quality treatments. The fact that he accomplished this was commendable but Mary Blake had gone to her grave without knowing the price her husband had paid, or the sequence of events that would follow. Three years later his debt had been charged with blood, which had led Damian to a life in foster homes, then to the reformatory, once again to the orphanage and finally to the streets.

Damian stopped talking and Miranda's eyes were moist in an expression of grief. At that moment she could not hide her emotions or thoughts and Damian could almost follow the sequence of reasoning that passed through his mother's mind.

"I'm very sorry, Damian," she murmured, swallowing her tears. "I am sorry more than you can even imagine. Sorry that you've gone through all this and discovered about me in that way," she finally said, in a very low tone.

"I don't understand. You had money. Could afford ..." him said confused and hesitated.

"Maybe it was better that you had never found out, but now you know the truth I'll try to explain."

He heard her narrative as she spoke about the dilemma she faced as she had learned she had been pregnant and the reasons which had led her to agree to give him up for adoption. She summarized his father's abandonment, the pressure from her father for her to be a perfect professional with a brilliant career. The pregnancy hidden from the eyes of the people she knew and, finally, the fact that she had feared for the safety of the child she was carrying. She chose to omit comments of the panic she had felt if her father had found out the truth and that he wanted to raise her child as his heir and under the influence of the League of the Shadows.

"I just wanted to keep my baby safe. I wish that you could grow up in a real home, in a real family that could love you and offer to you the life I never had. "

Damian realized that she deliberately did not tell the name of his father. He would wait for the right time to ask for it and confirm his suspicions.

"Are you angry with me, DJ?" she finally asked, noting the young man did not respond.

He glared at her, not knowing what to say. The recent developments in his life had made him plunge into an emotional turmoil that left him unable to think clearly.

"I don't know what I feel," he confessed. There was nothing more to say. He turned to Miranda and asked:

"And you, how are you feeling?"

"Honestly, I'm distressed and a bit lost, but very glad you're here."


	23. Ch21Sins Of A Mother - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This is not an original chapter, but it is necessary to place the narrative. All credits goes to Greg Cox with_

_regards to most of the chapter, except for some modifications ._

* * *

**XXI - Sins Of A Mother - Part II**

_**Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

The elevator let Fox and Miranda off on the top floor of Wayne Tower. They strolled toward the executive boardroom.

"I don't see the need for a board meeting on the energy project," he protested. He didn't have time for a meeting right now, not when he was still dealing with the raid on Applied Sciences. Even a partial inventory of all the prototypes that had gone missing was enough to keep him up at night. He didn't like to think about those inventions falling into the wrong hands.

"Bruce got a lot of things right," Miranda said. "Keeping the board in the dark wasn't one of them."

Lucius wasn't sure he agreed with that, but Miranda was president of Wayne Enterprises now, so he needed to respect her opinion. Bracing himself for a contentious exchange, he politely opened the door to the boardroom and escorted her inside.

Where he found a different kind of meeting already in progress.

The board members sat around the conference table, ashen and trembling. Armed intruders held them captive at gunpoint, while an intimidating masked figure occupied the head of the table. Lucius recognized him as the same ruthless killer who had staged the raid on the stock exchange, wiping out Bruce Wayne's fortune. Newspaper reports on the attack had identified him as a notorious mercenary known only as Bane.

"This meeting is called to order," the man said.

Fox and Miranda froze, staring aghast at the masked man and his gunmen. Lucius stepped protectively in front of Miranda.

"Chair and president," Bane said, addressing them. He was dressed for combat, wearing a khaki utility harness with plenty of pouches, and rugged gray trousers and boots. He crossed his beefy arms. A pistol was stuck in his belt. He glanced around the conference table. "I also need one ordinary member. Mr. Fox, would you care to nominate?"

_For what_? Lucius wondered. Bane's mockery of business protocol left him speechless and confused.

"No," Douglas Fredericks said, speaking up. The dignified older man rose to his feet. "I volunteer."

Fox was impressed by his colleague's courage. He hoped it wouldn't cost him too dearly as the mercenaries rounded up the three of them.

Helpless against the armed soldiers, he couldn't help wishing that Wayne was still a member of the board. Bruce would know how to handle a situation like this.

But no one had seen Bruce Wayne in days.

Or his nocturnal alter ego.

"Where are you taking us?" Fox asked cautiously.

"Where you buried your resources," Bane answered. "The bowels of Gotham."

Fox shivered involuntarily at the killer's words.

* * *

_**Gotham General Hospital, Gotham City**_

A nurse helped Gordon pull himself up to a sitting position. It hurt, but maybe not as much as before. A dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities sat on a bedside table. The nurse departed. Suddenly, Foley bursted in the room, agitated.

"Okay, Commissioner, you were right," he said out of his breath. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow.

"What's happened?" Gordon asked concerned.

"Your masked man kidnapped the Wayne Enterprises board. He let most of them go, but took three down into the sewers."

Gordon winced at the thought. Memories of the tunnels, of his own blood spilling into the chilling waters, sent a chill through his entire body.

_This is it_, he realized. _Bane is making his move._

"No more patrols, no more hide and seek. Send every available cop down there to smoke him out," Gordon ordered.

"The Mayor won't want panic..." Foley said cautiously.

Gordon took this in and suggested:

"So it's a training exercise."

Foley looked guiltily at Gordon and apologized.

"I'm sorry for not taking you seriously..."

Gordon cut him some slack. Foley was a good cop. He had just taken for granted that the bad days were gone. Gordon had known better.

"Don't apologize for believing the world's in better shape than it is... just fight to make it true. Send someone to chase up the Daggett leads, any way he or she can."

Foley nodded, seeming to understand at last and left the hospital room.

Gordon sighed as he was thinking about his caped crusader friend.

_Where is he? Is he aware of all the things that are going on? Is he gone again? _he wondered.

The whole time he'd been stuck in this damn bed, the one thing that had kept him going was the knowledge that Gotham's Dark Knight had returned. But it seemed as if that hope had been short-lived.

* * *

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

Water dripped onto Bruce's dry, cracked lips. An old man with shaggy white hair leaned over him, squeezing the liquid from a dirty rag. One cell over, separated from them by sturdy iron bars, a blind Middle Eastern man squatted against a rough stone wall. He appeared to be in his seventies. Milky cataracts clouded his eyes.

He muttered something in a tongue Bruce couldn't place. An obscure dialect of Persian, perhaps, or Arabic.

"He asks if you would pay us to let you die," White Hair translated. An Eastern European accent suggested that he had been born somewhere far beyond this hellish pit. A ragged wool vest hung over his scrawny frame. He was dressed like a peasant, but had an air of ravaged gentility. "I told him you have nothing."

Bruce grimaced. He lay miserably atop the cot, from which he hadn't stirred for who knew how long. Feverish and weak, he'd lost all track of time, drifting in and out of awareness. His head pounded, and the searing pain in his back was a constant companion, even in his sleep. Existence had become an endless ordeal he could never escape. He could not even clean himself.

"Do it for the pleasure," he said bitterly. But the nameless European placed a stale piece of bread to Bruce's lip. He shrugged apologetically.

"They pay me more than that to keep you alive."

Chanting, coming from outside the cell, caught Bruce's attention. Slowly, painfully, he rolled his head to see what was going on. Daylight, its presence just as tantalizing as Bane had promised, provided barely enough light to see.

A crowd of prisoners had gathered around a stocky, well-built inmate who could have had a career as a carnival strong man. He stood on one of the upper levels, just below the mammoth shaft that led to the surface.

Another prisoner, whose face was literally covered in tattoos, handed the strong man a rope, which he tied around his brawny chest. More prisoners crowded the various terraces and stairways. They joined in the chanting, which sounded more dirge-like than encouraging.

"He will try the climb," the European said.

The other end of the rope ran through a pulley system that had been hammered into a ledge about a third of the way up the shaft, hundreds of feet from the top. It served as a safety measure, Bruce realized, as the strong man began to scale the crumbling stone wall. Rugged outcroppings and narrow crevices were scattered irregularly along the rocky face, offering occasional purchase for the climber's bare hands and feet.

He made his way slowly up the shaft, the chanting growing louder and louder as he climbed toward the light. At one point he slipped, and almost lost his grip on the wall, but managed to recover. The safety rope trailed behind him as he rose.

Secure handholds and footholds grew scarcer and further apart the higher he went. He paused on a narrow ledge, gazing up at the challenge ahead. The next available shelf was at least a twelve-foot jump away. Bruce would have been hesitant to make such a leap even as Batman. It was a daunting prospect.

The strong man perched upon the foothold, searching in vain for some other way to proceed. Far below him, the chanting egged him on, growing in intensity. The man gazed up at the distant sunlight and made up his mind. As the chanting peaked, he jumped for the higher purchase – and missed.

Screaming, he plummeted toward the bottom of the pit. The safety rope snapped taut partway down and he swung into the unforgiving stone wall, hitting it with bone-crushing force. The chanting fell silent as the battered prisoner was slowly lowered down on the rope. His head drooped limply. Blood dripped from his smashed face and torso.

The spectators retreated back to their cells.

"Has anyone ever made it?" Bruce asked.

His caretaker shook his head.

"Of course not."

One cell over, the blind man barked in protest.

"What does he say?" Bruce asked.

"He says there is one who did," the European admitted. "Only one man…" He shuddered. Bruce knew whom he meant.

"Bane."

The other man flinched at the name. He seemed anxious to change the subject.

"An old legend. Nothing more."

Shoving the last of the bread between Bruce's lips, he hurried to leave the cell. Once outside, he paused to switch on the TV.

"Don't," Bruce pleaded. He had no desire to witness whatever horror show Bane had in store. But his caretaker left the TV on. He shrugged apologetically.

"Whatever they want you to see," he said, "it's happening soon."


	24. Ch22The Fire Is About To Rise

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Again, this is not an original chapter, but it is necessary to place the narrative. All credits goes to Greg Cox. _

* * *

**XXII - The Fire Is About To Rise**

_**Bane's Lair in a massive tunnel, Gotham City sewers **_

_Where are they taking us_? Fox wondered.

Bane's men led their hostages out of Wayne Tower through the jagged hole in the floor of Applied Sciences. They made their way across the debris into a confusing maze of tunnels somewhere beneath the city. The dismal catacombs were dank and dark, but showed evidence of recent modifications, and even new excavations.

The engineer in Fox tried to figure out the purpose of the construction. Somebody had clearly put a lot of time and labor into retrofitting the underground.

But why?

As he tried to assist Miranda and Fredericks, Lucius was dismayed to see the mercenaries brandishing his own inventions – weapons and equipment he had designed for the US military… and the Batman. Incendiary mini-mines the size of jacks, magnetic steel grapples, smoke and gas capsules, high-tech eavesdropping equipment, even a trio of stolen tumblers.

_Thank God Bruce took the Bat_, he thought, _before we were raided_.

They came at last to a large, damp tunnel lit by flickering fluorescent lights. It looked as if it had been newly excavated, perhaps as recently as the last few days. Fox had no idea where beneath Gotham they were, although it felt as if they had been walking for miles.

_We could be anywhere_, he realized.

Bane's men planted explosive charges on a freshly hewn wall at the far end of the tunnel. Standing off to one side, looking distinctly ill at ease, was an older man about Fox's age. He didn't look at all like a mercenary. He paced nervously, his face drenched with sweat. He ran his hand through disorderly white hair. Armed escorts kept a close eye on him.

Miranda stared at the stranger in surprise.

"Dr. Pavel?"

Fox recognized the name of a renegade Russian scientist who was believed to have perished in a plane crash some months ago. It was Leonid Pavel's work, he recalled, that had persuaded Bruce to mothball the fusion project indefinitely.

_What's he doing here_? Fox wondered. _Another of Bane's prisoners_?

The mercs finished placing the charges. They stepped away from the wall and signaled Bane.

He nodded at them.

An explosion rocked the tunnel.

* * *

_**Underground tunnels around Gotham City**_

Police and SWAT teams prepared to invade the underground. Foley glanced up at the sky as he coordinated the massive raid, operating from the 49th Street subway station. The sun was going down, but that hardly mattered where his teams were going.

Assault teams reported in from all around the city, massing in the thousands outside every subway station, manhole, and drainage pipe. As soon as he gave the go-ahead, pretty much the entire GCPD was going to descend and begin scouring every tunnel and rat hole until they rooted out Bane and his hostages.

The deputy commissioner just wished he'd done this earlier.

"Go," he ordered.

A SWAT team, its members equipped with faceless black helmets, body armor, and assault rifles, converged on the mouth of a large drainage tunnel. Before they got too far, however, a low, echoing boom sounded from somewhere deeper within the sewers.

The men exchanged tense looks, but headed in anyway, following orders that had been given to thousands of other officers throughout the city. Flashlights swept the slimy walls of the tunnels. Weapons were locked and loaded. Radios kept them in touch with all the other teams.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises Recycling Plant, Gotham City**_

Bane led the way into the reactor chamber. Dust and smoke filled the air as Fox and the others stumbled over the rubble and into the top-secret energy project beneath the river. Water from the drainage channels spilled over onto the wreckage. Fox felt sick to his stomach as they approached the reactor.

All at once, Dr. Pavel's presence made horrible sense.

Bane shoved Fox toward the control panel.

"Turn it on," he ordered.

_No_. Fox shook his head. This was exactly what Bruce had sacrificed so much to prevent. _I can't allow this, no matter what_.

Bane drew a gun from his belt and held it to Fredericks' head.

"I only need one other board member," he said. "Shall I have my men fetch another?"

Fox remembered the other hostages they had left behind at Wayne Tower. Was it possible they were still in danger? He prayed that the man was bluffing.

"I won't do it," he said.

Fredericks maintained his dignity, but still trembled as Bane cocked his weapon. An old friend of Thomas Wayne, he had always been a staunch defender of the Wayne legacy. Would a gun now take his life as well?

"All right, stop." Miranda hurried forward and, before Fox could even try to stop her, placed her palm down on a biometric scanner. The control panel beeped, confirming her identity. Buttons and gauges lit up. She turned and pleaded with Fox, her gray-blue eyes moist.

"Lucius, you'll kill this man and yourself, and barely slow them down."

As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. Bane held all the cards. Defying him at the expense of their lives would be nothing but an empty gesture, and leave him unable to fight back later on.

_I'm sorry, Bruce_, he thought. _I have no choice_.

He reluctantly placed his own hand on the scanner. Bane lowered his gun and motioned for Fredericks to do the same. A final beep activated the reactor core, which began to glow brighter and brighter as a fusion reaction ignited inside the suspended metal sphere, generating vast amounts of energy. Gauges on the core recorded the steady increase in power production.

Unlike the rigged demonstration Bruce had staged for Miranda before, the reaction did not peter out after a few minutes. It continued to grow in intensity as – deep within – atomic nuclei combined with increasing frequency, releasing vast amounts of power in the form of high-energy neutrons. It was the same process, Fox knew, that powered the sun.

And hydrogen bombs.

Dr. Pavel stared at the reactor, transfixed by the sight. Bane turned toward the scientist.

"Do your work," he commanded.

Roused from his scientific reverie, Pavel scurried to obey. Bane turned back to his men and gestured toward the hostages.

"Take them to the surface," he instructed, effectively dismissing Fox and the others. "People of their status need to experience the next era of western civilization."

Fox didn't like the sound of that.

_What does he mean to do with that reactor?_

But Bane did not bother to elaborate. He merely stood by silently as his men dragged Fox and the others back into the tunnels.


	25. Ch23The Game Begins - Pt 1

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXIII - The Game Begins - Part I**

_**Gotham Stadium, Scituate District, Gotham City**_

Gotham Stadium was home to the big game between the Gotham Rogues and the Rapid City Monuments. The new $300 million arena was the jewel of Mayor Garcia's urban renewal program, built on top of a formerly blighted stretch of riverfront property. The huge open-air venue was built of stone, steel, and glass.

Flanked by security, the mayor greeted reporters outside the VIP entrance. Cameras captured his photogenic visage. Reporters hurled questions, all about the game.

"Mr. Mayor!" a busybody from the Gotham Post called out. "We're seeing literally thousands of police heading into the sewers..."

"A training exercise, that's all." The mayor's winning smile grew slightly forced. He planted a Rogues cap on his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got tickets to watch our boys thrash Rapid City."

Ducking the press, the Mayor headed into the stadium with the black-and-yellow crowds and was escorted to his private luxury box overlooking the horseshoe-shaped arena.

He waved to the crowd as he took his seat.

* * *

_**Sewers tunnels, Gotham City**_

The GCPD had been searching the underground all night without success. There seemed no end to the branching tunnels and sewers, which were practically a city in themselves.

Hundreds of SWATs and cops were wading through the tunnels. Their flashlights were swinging, heading them towards the center of midtown, albeit well beneath the city streets. A grid search based on outdated Gotham blueprints had the teams converging from different entry points. With any luck, they were closing in on the terrorists.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Following Gordon's and Foley's orders, Detective Crispus Allen cruised through an ugly industrial district, checking in with Gordon via his cell phone.

"I've been to half of Daggett's cement plants," he reported. "Logged locations they've poured for underground construction."

"Anything strange about the pourings?" Gordon asked from his hospital room. Static added to the hoarseness of his voice.

Allen pulled the car over to consult his notes. A crumpled map was spread out across the passenger seat next to him. Red dots, scribbled on the map, indicated all the pouring sites his and Detective Chandler's research had identified. They tried – and failed – to find any clues on the map.

"Honestly, commissioner, I don't know anything about civil engineering..."

"But you know about patterns," Gordon insisted. "Keep looking."

_If you say so_, Allen thought, signing off. He checked the address of the next cement plant on his list. _I just hope this isn't a wild goose chase._

He couldn't help wishing that he was underground, taking part in the manhunt for Bane instead. That was where the real action was.

He hoped the others were okay.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises Recycling Plant, Gotham City**_

Sweating, Dr. Pavel stepped away from the reactor. His sleeves were rolled up and he was breathing hard. Much of his task had involved reprogramming the reactor's safety parameters and neutron flux allowances, but he had also needed to tinker with the magnetic coils and plasma containment units.

A case of sophisticated tools lay at his feet, along with discarded bits of shielding. Essential baffles and dampeners had been replaced with more volatile materials. The sphere's access panels were once again closed.

He finished his work and turned to Bane.

"It is done," he announced gravely. "This is now a four megaton nuclear bomb."

Bane nodded in approval. He called to his men.

"Pull the core out of the reactor."

"You can't!" Pavel blurted, his face draining of color. "This is the only power source capable of sustaining it. If you move it, the core will decay in a matter of months..."

"Five, by my calculations," Bane replied calmly.

Pavel was confused. Did Bane not appreciate the danger? He tried desperately to explain.

"And then it will go off!"

"For the sake of your family, Dr. Pavel, I hope so."

Stunned, the scientist watched as the men began to disconnect the core. He wrung his hands anxiously. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he had died in that plane crash, after all.

_God forgive me_, he thought. _What have I done_?

* * *

_**At a cement factory on the outskirts of town, Gotham City**_

Tired and hungry, Allen had been tempted to stop for lunch, but instead he drove straight to his next destination. A chain link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the grounds. Hot gases jetted from the heating tower. Storage silos rose above the plant. Grinding mills churned noisily. He parked outside and approached the gate.

He was led through the fence by a worker.

"Boss is about to leave," the man grumbled as he escorted Allen across the lot. Cement dust was everywhere as he walked past cement mixers. An odd chemical odor nagged at Allen's memory.

_Where do I know that from?_

Suddenly he spotted a familiar face. A driver who was standing outside the vehicle.

"Hey!" Allen called out, getting the man's attention. The driver turned toward him. "I know you. That was you outside the stock exchange, right?"

The man's stony face might as well as have been cast in cement. He crossed his arms belligerently.

"When?"

"When?" Allen echoed in disbelief. "When half the city's cops were trying to pull onto Castle Street, and your truck shut them out."

Hard to imagine the guy had forgotten that particular altercation.

"Oh, yeah," the driver said, as though only just recognizing Allen. "You're that cop..."

"Detective..."

Behind Allen, the worker was putting his hand is his pocket.

Sensing that something was wrong, Allen spun around, drawing his sidearm just in time to see the worker lunging at him with a knife. Allen smashed his hand to one side and shot him in self-defense. Blood spurted from his wound.

The driver grabbed him from behind and the detective wrestled, but the driver was strong and trained. Allen could not aim his gun, he fired behind, into a steel mixer – the bullets ricocheted, one caught the driver in the back and he went down.

Gasping, Allen kneeled beside the driver.

"What were you doing?! What?!" he demanded, furious that the information he needed might be slipping away.

But the man was already dead.

Both men were dead.

_Damn_!

Nervously, he pulled out his phone and dialed Gordon.

His boss's voice mail picked up.

"Commissioner, I'm at the Fourteenth Street plant with two dead witnesses and a lot of questions. Call me..." Then he froze and stooped to pick up his gun while he sniffed the air suspiciously, tracing the smell to a collection of unmarked steel barrels resting alongside the wooden pallets.

His jaw dropped as he finally identified the odor.

"Commissioner, they've got polyisobutylene here... " he paused and surveyed the scene, taking in the plant's inventory, "...and motor oil." The pieces came together to form an alarming picture. "They weren't making cement, they were making explosives..."

An awful possibility hit him with the force of revelation. He ran to his vehicle and grabbed his charts. His eyes frantically scanned the map, hoping he was wrong, but the telltale pattern of dots only confirmed his worst fears.

"Oh, God."

He dived behind the steering wheel and peeled out of the factory parking lot, spraying gravel behind him. He drove furiously back toward headquarters, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, while shouting into his radio.

"Patch me into Foley!"

A maddeningly calm voice responded. "Deputy Commissioner Foley is overseeing the operation..."

"They're heading into a trap!"

* * *

_**MTA tunnel, Gotham City undergrounds**_

Moments later, Foley followed his men into the subway tunnel, putting the lights of the platform behind him. He was tired of waiting. He needed to check on the search with his own eyes. He owed Gordon that much.

He owed Gotham that much.

"Sir!" a lieutenant came running after him. He thrust a radio into Foley's hand. "It's Crispus Allen. He says it's urgent."

Concerned, Foley took the radio from his colleague.

"Foley," he said.

"It's a trap!" Allen's voice shouted. "Pull everyone out! Bane's been pouring concrete laced with explosives..."

Foley froze in his tracks.

"Where?"

"There's a ring around the tunnels, Allen answered. "They're gonna blow it and trap the cops underground!"

Foley spun around and stared back at the mouth of the tunnel, which suddenly seemed dangerously far away. His mouth went dry.

"Pull out!" he shouted. "Pull 'em out!"

He raced toward the light.

* * *

_**Boiler Room, Gotham Stadium, Scituate District, Gotham City**_

The boiler room was in a sub-basement of the stadium, far below the cheering crowds. With all eyes on the field, no one was watching as Bane's men broke through the basement floor. Drills and explosive charges had carved out a path from the tunnels below. The mercenaries climbed up into the stadium.

Bane emerged from the underground. His utility harness was strapped to his chest.

The National Anthem – sung by a boy – could be heard wafting down from above. In a corporate box, the Mayor was mouthing the song with his hand over his heart, in chorus with the crowd that filled the stadium.

"What a lovely, lovely voice," Bane said in a mockery tone.

The mercenaries advanced to the empty locker room tunnels. They took out their detonators. Bane cocked his head at the sound of the kickoff, like a hunting dog scenting the wind.

_Now_, he decided.

"Let the games begin."

The men hit the detonators.

* * *

_**Into the sewers, Gotham City undergrounds**_

Meanwhile, inside of a tunnel beneath the surface, SWATs reacted as the tunnel roof behind collapsed. Chunks of concrete structure dropped, making thousands of police trapped throughout different tunnels.

Foley scrambled for the light. Along with his men, he raced out of the subway tunnel only heartbeats before explosions rocked the underground.

Cops and SWAT team members dived for cover. An injured officer screamed.

Somehow Foley managed to stay on his feet. Panting, he made it all the way back to the passenger platform before turning around to inspect the damage. Pulverized stone and concrete caked his sweaty face. He coughed hoarsely, choking on the dust. His eyes bulged from their sockets.

_Oh my God…_

Tons of fallen concrete blocked the mouth to the tunnel. Frantic radio reports, coming from all around the city, confirmed Allen's dire prediction. Explosions and cave-ins had closed off every entrance to the underground, trapping thousands of cops beneath the city. Foley gazed in horror at the heap of rubble. He may have gotten out just in time, but what about the rest of his people?

He already knew the answer.

Practically the entire GCPD had been buried alive.


	26. Ch24The Game Begins - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXIV - The Game Begins - Part II**

_**Gotham Stadium, Scituate District, Gotham City**_

The football spiraled through the air and the crowd was going wild as a receiver caught the ball and started to run towards the touchdown.

Suddenly, the Mayor looked on confused. As the receiver was sprinting for the end zone, the field behind him dropped away in smoking ruins, swallowing all the players behind him.

Now, the crowd was not cheering but screaming in panic. The Mayor's box exploded, causing more commotion from more than sixty thousand spectators, many of whom were already stampeding for the exits.

The receiver, nearing the touchdown, glanced back and saw the Armageddon. The entire field was now a smoking mass of rubble, but for one strip of turf. The terrified player stumbled past the end zone, abandoning all thought of scoring.

Mercenaries poured out of the tunnel, creating a gauntlet.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

The street erupted all around Allen's cruiser, throwing chunks of asphalt into the air. Thick black smoke billowed up from below. Manhole covers shot upward. Water gushed from broken fire hydrants. Street lamps toppled over, crashing onto streets and sidewalks.

Snapped electrical wires sparked and hissed. Pedestrians ran in terror. Horns honked frantically, adding to the tumult. Brakes squealed. Sirens blared. Vehicles collided.

Struggling to keep control of his car, Allen swerved wildly to avoid the bright orange flames shooting up from an open manhole. His notes and maps went flying around the cabin. An empty coffee cup toppled over.

Allen swore out loud, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

All bridges, except the Gotham Bridge, suffered what appeared to be controlled demolitions, severing the east side of midtown from the mainland. The massive towers, deck, and cables crashed into the river. Dozens of cars, trucks, and taxis plunged down into the icy water.

_Bane is cutting Gotham off from the world_, he realized. _But why_?

Another eruption went off directly beneath the cruiser, tossing the car over and onto its roof. It skidded across the exploding asphalt. Sparks and the screeching of metal against asphalt created yet more chaos. Allen's seatbelt and shoulder strap dug into him, holding him to his seat.

The windshield shattered. Metal crumpled around him. Geysers of smoke and flame spewed around the careening vehicle.

His world turned upside-down.

* * *

_**Gotham Stadium, Scituate District, Gotham City**_

The once-green football field was now a smoking wasteland except for one narrow strip of turf that had survived the disaster. Rubble and dead bodies littered what was left. The pigskin itself had vanished into the chasm.

No one noticed.

Bane stepped into the smoking stadium like a gladiator walking into the arena. TV cameras swung onto him. Passing a dead umpire, he took the men's headset and surveyed the screaming crowd, then lifted an arm for silence and raised the mike to his mask.

"Gotham!" he exhorted. "Take control of your city..."

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Allen squeezed out of his overturned car and spit a mouthful of blood onto the charred pavement. His teeth stayed where they were, thank God.

He reached in for the radio and as he did so, a burst of static hurt his ears.

"Foley?" he asked anxiously.

"Jesus, Allen!" Foley answered, sounding hoarse and understandably distraught. "Every cop in the city's down in those tunnels."

"Not every cop," Allen declared.

* * *

_**Gotham General Hospital, Gotham City**_

Gordon's heart-rate monitor started beeping rapidly. He awoke with a start, jolted from sleep by some sort of commotion outside his room. He had been having a nightmare about Bane and that shoot-out in the sewers.

Groggy and confused, it took him a moment to realize that something very bad was happening – for real. Screams, shouts, and the occasional burst of gunfire came from downstairs, as if the hospital lobby was under attack by persons unknown.

Patients and doctors were indeed crowding the hospital entrance as mercenaries with automatic weapons were forcing their way in to hit the stairwell.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. He heard the invaders moving from room to room. Terrified patients screamed and shouted for help. Nurses and orderlies ran and hid. Occasionally there was the sound of a gunshot. Gordon realized that it was only a matter of moments before they found him.

Clenching his teeth, he painfully pulled himself out of his bed, wheeling his IV tree across the floor.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

"_Not every cop."_

Allen's assertion made Foley realize that Commissioner Gordon – stuck in a hospital bed as he was – was an easy target.

Racing against time, he headed towards a cruiser, got in it and drove to Gotham General. Dazed and terrified people were swerving around the streets. Flames and smoke were billowing from the sewers.

_I can't worry about that now,_ Foley thought. He knew who Bane's next target would be. _If I'm not already too late._

* * *

_**Gotham General Hospital, Gotham City**_

The cruiser squealed to a halt in front of the hospital. Foley bolted from the vehicle, got his shotgun from inside the cruiser and raced up the steps into the lobby, which was worryingly deserted. Bullet holes perforated the walls and ceiling. Broken glass was strewn over the floor. The gift shop and reception desk had been shot up.

He heard gunshots upstairs.

_Crap_, he thought. _They've found Gordon._

Sprinting through the stairs, he dashed up to the commissioner's floor. He burst into the corridor, gun high, only to freeze as he felt a warm steel gun muzzle at the base of his skull. The heat of the metal told him that the gun had been recently fired.

He swallowed hard. For a second, he thought it was all over for him.

"Clear the corners, rookie," Gordon scolded him.

Foley turned to see Gordon, wearing a rumpled hospital gown, lower his trusty Smith & Wesson. Four dead mercs lay in the hallway. Fearful patients peeked around the doors that led to their rooms.

"Get my coat, man," Gordon said.


	27. Ch25The Instrument Of Your Liberation

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXV - The Instrument Of Your Liberation **

_**Pentagon "War Room", National Military Command Center in Washington, DC**_

Gotham Stadium had become the hottest spot on the planet, at least as far as the Pentagon was concerned. More than three hundred personnel were crammed into popularly known as the "War Room."

Rows of state-of-the-art computer and communications stations faced a huge array of illuminated maps and screens. Live footage from Gotham Stadium dominated the central screen as teams of analysts and military staff members, along with the rest of the world, attempted to assess the ongoing – and unprecedented – situation.

Air Force General Matthew Armstrong, five stars gleaming on his epaulets, watched with concern as the terrorists pulled the glowing core of a nuclear device onto what remained of the playing field.

"This is the instrument of your liberation," Bane declared. CIA analysts had already identified the masked madman as the same terrorist who had staged the attack on the Gotham Stock Exchange last week. Apparently, that had just been his opening number.

"Satellite shows a radiation spike," an analyst reported. "Whatever it is, it's nuclear."

The tension in the room shot up another notch. All eyes remained glued to the monitors, where the terrorists thrusted Dr. Pavel to his knees before Bane.

"Identify yourself to the world," the terrorist leader ordered.

"Dr. Leonid Pavel," the man said, his voice shaking. "Nuclear physicist..."

Bane turned the scientist's face toward the cameras, even as intelligence experts scrambled to verify the man's identity.

"Pavel is confirmed dead," a CIA analyst reported, calling up the data from a computer. "Plane crash on an agency pull out of Uzbekistan." She compared the man on the monitor to a photo from their database. "But it certainly looks like him..."

The general had to agree. He rubbed his chin, pondering the situation. This was getting more serious by the moment. He stared up at an illuminated screen tracking their response.

A squadron of F-22 fighter jets was already streaking toward Gotham.

On the TV monitors, Bane placed a hand on Pavel's shoulder. The kneeling scientist shuddered visibly.

* * *

_**Gotham Stadium, Scituate District, Gotham City**_

"Tell the world what this is," Bane instructed.

"A fully primed neutron bomb. With a blast radius of six miles."

Bane nodded.

"And who can disarm this device?"

"Only me."

"Thank you, doctor."

With the whole world watching, Bane effortlessly snapped the scientist's neck. Pavel's body dropped onto the grass. Screams erupted from the bleachers.

"The bomb is armed," Bane said, ignoring the screams. "The bomb is mobile, the identity of the triggerman is a mystery. One of you holds the detonator. We come not as conquerors, but as liberators to return control of this city to the people. At the first sign of interference from the outside world, or of people attempting to flee, this anonymous Gothamite – this unsung hero – will trigger the bomb. For now, martial law is in effect. Return to your homes, hold your families close, and wait." He threw out his arms. "Tomorrow you claim what is rightfully yours."

Bane turned and left the field. His men rolled the bomb after him, leaving Dr. Pavel's body behind on the desecrated turf.

* * *

_**Pentagon "War Room", National Military Command Center in Washington, DC**_

People gasped when Bane snapped Dr. Pavel's neck in front of the world and a hush fell over the war room when he left the field.

"Pull back the fighters," the general said finally, breaking the silence. "Start high-level reconnaissance flights. And get the President on the line."

* * *

_**Over Gotham Bridge, Gotham City**_

Gotham Bridge was the only one left standing. By sunset, tanks and troops were already advancing on the city from the mainland. Mercenaries were holding the bridge but there was no sign of Bane. One of his men stepped forward, holding a bullhorn.

"Tanks and planes cannot stop us detonating our device. Send an emissary to discuss terms of access for supplies and communication," he said through the bullhorn.

A captain stepped forward and walked to the apex of the bridge.

"How many of you are there, son? the captain asked, receiving only a sullen glare in response. Staring the man squarely in the eye, he attempted to give the terrorists a much-needed reality check. "You don't have enough men to stop twelve million people leaving that island."

"No. We don't," the mercenary conceded. "But you do."

The captain snorted.

"Why in hell would we help you keep your hostages?"

"Because if people start crossing the bridge, Gotham gets blown to hell." He didn't sound like he was bluffing.

* * *

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

_"The people of our greatest city are resilient. They have proven this before, they will prove this again." _The President addressed the nation through the radio and TV.

Lying helplessly upon his cot, untold miles away from Gotham, Bruce watched the broadcast. All day and night, images of the burning city had seared themselves into his anguished brain. Aerial photos revealed a ring of fire circling his city. Experts and commentators soberly weighed its chances of survival.

Bane's nightmarish invasion of the football stadium had been replayed constantly, until Bruce knew every moment by heart. He had recognized the reactor core, of course, and knew just what it was capable of doing.

"_We do not negotiate with terrorists," _the President continued, "_but we do recognize realities…"_

Tears streamed down Bruce's face.


	28. Ch26Butterfly On A Wheel

_First, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers.  
Secondly, as a biologist, I often react very sensitively to how some science aspects are showed in the movies and TDKR features a wealth of insultingly stupid movie physics. But I won't belaboring the discussion and I'll keep the same reasoning line of the screenwriters. If you want to know more about the possibility of convert a fusion reactor into a nuke visit these web pages:  
__**http**__(colon, slash, slash)__**migre**__.__**me**__(slash)__**bq9Z1**__  
__**http**__(colon, slash, slash)__**migre**__.__**me**__(slash)__**bqa1x**__  
Thirdly, Cassandra is a hindu woman who was shown in "Batman Gotham Knight: Working Through Pain" and instructed Bruce on resisting physical pain, during his training around the world.  
__**http**__(colon, slash, slash)__**migre**__.__**me**__(slash)__**bqa4r**_

* * *

**XXVI - Butterfly On A Wheel**

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

By night, the darkened streets were all but deserted, as Gotham's cowed citizens took seriously Bane's admonition to stay indoors. Foley warily drove toward home, while Gordon slumped beside him in the passenger seat. The deputy commissioner kept the cruiser's lights and siren off and tried to avoid the craters, cracks, and rubble, but Gordon still flinched at every bump. The rough drive had to be hard on his wounds.

They listened grimly to the President's speech.

"_As the situation develops, one thing must be understood above all others. People of Gotham, we have not abandoned you."_

Foley scowled at the radio. "What does that mean?"

"It means we're on our own," Gordon translated. "I have to get in front of a camera..."

"Jim, they'll kill you the second you show your face."

"The mayor's dead," Gordon said. "I'm the symbol of law and order. Bane says he's giving Gotham back to the people. They need to know that I could lead."

Foley frowned.

"Bane's never going to let that happen."

"Then he'll show his true colors."

"And you'll be dead," he replied.

Gordon stared silently out the window.

* * *

_**Miranda's Loft, Midtown District, Gotham City**_

Damian were watching the broadcast still in complete horror due to recent events. Impatient, the boy kept his cell phone in his hand. He had been unable to speak to any of his friends from Monarch Theater since he had come to Miranda's home. Suddenly the phone rang, taken him by surprise. He eyed the screen and saw it was Stephanie Brown who was calling him. Anxious, he answered the call.

"Hi, Steph! Are you okay? How are you guys doing?" he asked her.

"Everything is under control. I'm fine so are the boys. But you're my concern right now. Where have you been?"

"I'm okay," he declared and looked at Miranda. She was staring towards the city skyline, keeping quiet and pale for a long time.

"I'm safe," he added. "But I can't go back to the Theater right now."

"Okay. Be safe and stay in touch."

"I will and you too. Bye," he bid farewell to her.

"Bye."

There was no time for a long chat. They just needed to talk about the essential.

Miranda turned and asked:

"Could you please lend me your mobile?"

Her eyes were puffed and had dark circles under theirs, as if she had been crying or not sleeping well. Damian mused that if she had been crying it was out of his sight.

"Sure. But why?" he asked as he handed his phone to her.

"I have reasons to believe that my phone could be tapped," she said flatly. He gave her a blank look and she turned, exiting the room while dialed Fox.

Damian kept alert and overheard her conversation.

"But we built it, Fox. There must be a way..." she paused and continued. "We have to take responsibility for it."

Damian realized she was keeping calm but a little bit distress by her tone of voice. Minutes later she said farewell to Fox and sighed.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked as he got the phone she handed him.

"Everything is falling apart because of a device built by Wayne Enterprises," she stated hopeless.

"Wait a moment! That damn nuke belongs to Wayne Enterprises?"

"Not anymore. And it was a fusion reactor designed to provide safe and clean energy, but it was stolen and weaponized by that terrorists." _With my help_, she added in thought.

"Is there something that you guys can do?"

Miranda shook her head.

"I don't know", she said tired. "Lucius Fox - the former CEO and responsible for Applied Sciences division - said that if we could recover the device, there must be a chance to reattach the fusion core and disarm it in the reactor chamber."

"But Bane said some ordinary citizen have the power to set the bomb off," he pondered.

"He's bluffing," she said with conviction. "He'd never give the trigger to an ordinary citizen," she took a breath and added, "besides the bomb is going to go off either way after about five months or so."

"What?" he asked with a terrified expression on his face.

"The fusion device spontaneously detonates after five months of decay. When the core are removed the reactor itself destabilized," she explained.

"But this Mr. Fox seems to have a plan..." he said with hope.

"I'm afraid we can't do it, but we could try nonetheless…" she said and quickly headed upstairs, leaving him behind.

Miranda needed some time alone and sought refuge in her bedroom.

She had hoped to gain some time – before Bane and his men had showed off at Wayne Tower – to find a way to flood the reactor chamber. She was not a genocider and had no intention to inflict suffering upon innocent people. Her personal vendetta was against Bruce Wayne and nobody else. In her naivety, she had expected Bane would aid her in her quest for revenge and them she could trick him into a bluff. Her plan had been simple – make Bruce's life miserable and them fly away from Gotham, from Bane and from her past. However, she had underestimated her partner and now the entire city was under siege.

And there was still her son. She was not alone anymore and needed to take one step at a time, in a calculated manner to avoid a major disaster.

Sometimes, as it now, her conscience made her question her actions, which were having some seriously grave consequences. She just had wanted to make Bruce feel bad for hurting her that way. Nothing more.

_Bruce._

The simple thought of him made her sick. _Was he still alive_? Bane would not bother to leave the country with a corpse in tow. He must be somewhere, suffering.

As the saying goes, 'revenge is a dish best served cold' and, apparently, Miranda took the dictum to the letter, as she had waited patiently for the right moment to get revenge on Bruce Wayne. What she did not expect was, that despite everything, she still kept being in love with him.

* * *

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

Days and nights passed since Bruce had been thrown in the prison pit, and for him it was like a never ending feverish dream. Terrible pictures crossed his mind as he lay helplessly upon his cot. When he could keep conscious he was forced to witness the apocalypse that Bane had unleashed on Gotham.

Mixed nightmarish images of events and people so familiar to him came to hunt in his sleep. A child version of Rachel were running and playing with him through the extensive gardens of the Wayne manor. He fell into the dark pit and was surrounded by bats, lots of them. He could hear her childish voice calling him.

_"Bruce."_

_Bang, bang._ Shooting sounds came out of nowhere. He saw his parents being murdered by Joe Chill, then lying on the street, striking the pavement as a bloody wad. He looked up and reached out for his father. Thomas took his hand.

_"It's alright... everything's going to be fine. "_

Joker's sinister laugh came from somewhere and then Harvey Dent's voice took place.

_"You thought we could be decent men in an indecent time. But you were wrong. The world is cruel, and the only morality in a cruel world is chance."_

Miranda appeared to his sight.

"_Bruce,_" she whispered and leaned to kiss him, "_I love you_."

She was wearing the necklace he had given her. Suddenly her face vanished and the robin pendant and the golden nest appeared together. A smirking Damian emerged.

"_You don't understand_," the young man said. "_It's a family jewel._"

Next, Alfred's voice came to him.

"_You don't owe these people anymore. You've given them everything._"

But he replied in his Bat-voice, "_Not everything. Not yet_."

Bruce woke up abruptly, opened his eyes quickly, looked around and realized he could not go anywhere. An excruciating pain took over his back as he tried to turn his body, making him almost scream. Every muscle in his body was yelling to break free, but the lancinating pain ravaged him every time he tried to move. Then he closed his eyes and opened them again.

He started to remember the lessons he had learned from a woman he had met during his travels around the world. Cassandra was her name and she had taught him how to minimize his pain to the point where he can control it.

Moments later the pain had been reduced to a low growl. But when he blocked out it in his back, it reappeared in his heart.

While managing his pain he reflected on his life. A life consecrated in an altar of justice a long time ago. Few women had shaken him up and none more than Miranda. She had brought a fire to his lips and a calm to his heart that no one else had. Not even Rachel. In another time it could have been her, her oldest friend with whom he had shared his most intimate secret. But Rachel was dead and Miranda had returned to his life.

Now he realized how much his life had been empty. Would be there a second chance for them to be together again... perhaps even as husband and wife? As a family?

Right now she was in a middle of the chaos that had become Gotham. She and other people with whom he cared for, such as Fox, Gordon and even Damian. The boy had won his admiration and respect and he could see a mirror of his own boldness and courage in him.

_Would he be alive? Would Bane have done anything against the kid?_

More he thought about them more he realized that saving them was the most important thing in his life.

He did not even have a clue of his exact location. The pit seemed to imprison people from all parts of the globe. The nameless European – who had been taking care of him – had told him that prison had been called the Lazarus Pit, after the parable of Lazarus the Beggar. People had been thrown in it for centuries, to be forgotten by the rest of the world and then revive if they could had managed to escape. The Lazarus Pit was where they put the ones they were ashamed of to live eternally isolated from the society.

Hope strengthened his spirit. He needed to find a way to heal his body, get out of that place and go back to Gotham. It would be a Herculean task but, at least, there did not appear to be any guards to stop him from doing that. Apparently, they weren't needed. The prisoners had been left to police themselves.


	29. Ch27The Fall Of The Bastille

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers, particularly Mavia. As she/ he honestly and rightfully pointed out in his/ her last review, the last chapters were not original ones but only excerpts from the movie. As __I explained to her/ him - and now I do to you - that kind of chapter was necessary to place the narrative and some characters properly. I know sometimes they seem to be __a nuisance__ but all I ask of you is to be patient and don't give up on this fic. S__oon we will have more__ Miranda/ Damian/ Bruce interaction, __given that they are pretty much the main characters of this story__. However, __I can't ignore what happens in Gotham because it is also an integral and important part of this universe. And don't forget, this fic is a retelling of TDKR events so chapters featuring only scenes of the movie are within the expected._

_So stay tuned and don't forget to write a review after you read this chapter. Feedbacks are very welcomed and important to improve the fic._

* * *

**XVII - The Fall Of The Bastille**

_**Around Blackgate Maximum Security Penitentiary, Gotham Bay, Gotham City**_

Blackgate Prison was a maximum-security penitentiary located on one of the smaller islands in Gotham Harbor. Now that the Dent Act had made it all but possible for the city's criminals to cop an insanity plea, it had replaced Arkham Asylum as the preferred location for imprisoning both convicted and suspected felons. The worst of the worst were sent here, except for the Joker, who, rumor had it, was locked away as Arkham's sole remaining inmate.

Or perhaps he had escaped. Nobody was really sure.

Three camouflage Tumblers were rolling down the deserted street towards the prison. The rumbling noise made some prisoners go to their cell windows to take a look on what was going on. Excited shouts roused the entire prison. Blackgate had been under lockdown ever since the day before, when all those explosions had made it feel as if they were having an earthquake. The guards all appeared distinctly jumpy – and more than a little scared. Seemingly, several of them hadn't even shown up for work today.

The Tumblers stopped in front of the gates. A crowd of news crews were gathering outside the prison walls. Curious citizens braved the streets to see what was happening. Guards in the towers looked down apprehensively.

Suddenly Bane emerged from the lead Tumbler, wearing a fur-lined winter coat with a raised collar. He stood atop the tank, his coat open despite the cold. He turned to address the media. A hand-held microphone carried his sinister voice all the way up to the cells.

"Behind you stands a symbol of oppression," Bane declared.

A hush fell over the entire building as everyone stopped to listen. Prisoners and guards alike strained to hear his words.

"Blackgate Prison. Where a thousand men have languished for years. Under the Dent Act. Under the name of this man."

He held up a photo of the handsome Gotham White Knight.

"Harvey Dent. Held up to you – and over you – as a shining example of justice and good."

* * *

_**Foley's House, Uptown District, Gotham City**_

Peter Foley lived in a cozy and average house with his wife and their two children. The boys were restless and apprehensive since the day before when they had been forced to stay locked indoors. Foley and his wife were trying to reassure them that everything was going to be alright. But the presence of an unexpected guest was a constant reminder that something was not well.

Mrs. Foley and her boys rummaged through the kitchen foraging for supplies, while her husband kept gathering the children's clutter and Gordon rested on a comfortable couch. Borrowed clothes had replaced Gordon's hospital gown. They fit, sort of.

"We're gonna keep moving you," Foley said, "till we can get you in front of a camera."

Gordon stared gravely at the TV set, where Bane could be seen delivering a speech in front of Blackgate Prison. The masked maniac set fire to Harvey Dent's photo. His voice boomed from the television.

"_But they supplied you a false idol,_" the lunatic said. "_A straw man to placate you. To stop you from tearing down this corrupt city…_"

Hardened criminals peered through the barred windows of the prison. They started cheering raucously in the background.

"…_and rebuilding it the way it should have been rebuilt, generations ago._" Bane dropped the burning picture. The ashes fell to the pavement in front of his tank.

"_Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent. In the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon._"

This got Foley's attention. Gordon shifted uneasily upon the couch. Onscreen, the mercenary leader unfolded the pages of Gordon's undelivered speech. He began to read aloud.

"'_The truth about Harvey Dent is simple in only one regard - it has been hidden for too long. After his devastating injuries, Harvey's mind has recovered no better than his mutilated face. He was a broken, dangerous man, not the crusader for justice that I, James Gordon, have portrayed him to be for the last eight years. Harvey's rage was indiscriminate. Psychopathic. He held my family at gunpoint, then fell to his death in the struggle over my son's life. The Batman did not murder Harvey Dent – he saved saved my boy.'_" Foley stared aghast at the screen. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"'_Then Batman took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes, so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol.'_"

Gordon lowered his face to his hands.

"'_I praised the madman who tried to murder my own child.'_"

The crowd fell silent, stunned by what they were hearing, as Bane continued reading.

"'_The things we did in Harvey's name brought desperately needed security to our streets. But I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth, and it is time for me to resign.'_"

Bane folded the papers and put them away. He gazed out over the speechless crowd, which included reporters and neighborhood toughs. Guards and inmates watched intently from inside Blackgate's forbidding stone walls and towers.

Bane called out to the mob.

"_Do you accept this man's resignation?"_

At first no one responded, but then a few angry faces in the back started shouting.

"_Yes!"_

Inside Blackgate, prisoners started cheering, pounding against the bars.

"_Do you accept the resignation of all the liars?"_ Bane demanded. "_All the corrupt?"_

More and more of the crowd, both inside and outside the prison, were chanting _"Yes!"_

Foley looked away from the TV in disgust. He stared accusingly at Gordon, who sat mutely on the couch. His guilty expression was all the evidence the other cop needed. His own face hardened.

"Those men, locked up in Blackgate for eight years, denied parole under the Dent Act," he said flatly. "Suspects held indefinitely without trial. Based on a lie."

"A lie to keep a city on fire from burning to the ground." Gordon looked up at him. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "Gotham needed a hero, someone to believe in..."

"Not as much as it does now," Foley said harshly. "But you betrayed everything you stood for."

Gordon gave the other man a rueful look.

"There's a point, far out there, when the structures fail you. When the rules aren't weapons any more, they're shackles, letting the bad get ahead." His voice was both sad and tired. "Maybe one day you'll have such a moment of crisis. And in that moment, I hope you have a friend like I did. To plunge their hands into the filth so you can keep yours clean."

Disillusioned, Foley was in no mood to grant Gordon absolution.

"Your hands look plenty filthy to me, commissioner."

He turned and went to another room.

* * *

_**Blackgate Maximum Security Penitentiary, Gotham Bay, Gotham City**_

The whole prison was in an uproar. Nervous guards looked on apprehensively, clutching their weapons with sweaty palms as the prisoners reacted loudly to all the excitement outside.

Bane signaled to one of the other Tumblers, which its turret turned to the prison doors.

"We take Gotham from the corrupt," Bane ranted, shouting over the clamor of the mob. "The rich. The oppressors of generations who've kept you down with the myth of opportunity. And we give it to you, the people. Gotham is yours - none shall interfere. Do as you please!"

Hellfire blasted from the cannon, blowing the heavy iron gates to pieces. Twisted metal fragments clattered down onto the sidewalk, leaving an open, smoldering cavity in the walls of the prison.

"But start by storming Blackgate and freeing the oppressed," he continued. "Step forward, those who would serve…"

Bane's men rushed the prison, surging through the burning gates. The mob chased after them, eagerly joining in the revolt. Pounding boots trampled over the blackened remains of Harvey Dent's photo. Alarms sounded, but the outnumbered guards offered little resistance.

The cell doors slid open and the prisoners poured out, trashing the place on their way out. Unlucky guards – the ones who hadn't fled or hidden in time – found themselves on the receiving end of eight years of pent-up grudges. It wasn't a good day to be wearing a uniform or a badge.

* * *

_**All over town, Gotham City**_

In the hours and days that followed, Bane's fiery oration was played constantly over the airwaves, as all that he prophesized came to pass.

"_For an army will be raised…"_

Mercenaries had handed out weapons to the prisoners escaping Blackgate. Shots were fired into the air in celebration, as the criminals rampaged through Gotham, encountering no resistance. Other men and women, eager to join in the looting, poured into the streets as well, swelling the ranks of the ad hoc army. They found the city ripe for the taking.

Looters invaded a tree-lined boulevard across from the park. What had once been one of Gotham's tonier neighborhoods was overrun by a lawless horde that stormed the luxury apartment buildings.

Gun-wielding rioters shot off the locks or battered down the doors. Hopelessly outnumbered, cowed doormen and security guards either retreated from the mob or else joined the insurrection.

"_The powerful will be ripped from their decadent nests…"_

On Park Boulevard, looters ransacked a palatial penthouse apartment. The one-time owners of the apartment cowered in a corner as the rioters took over their stuff.

"_And cast into the cold world the rest of us have known and endured…"_

Wealthy people were herded roughly out into the street, by rioters with guns. Despite the cold fall weather, and not even given a chance to dress for the outdoors, they were marched at gunpoint away from their former homes.

_"Courts will be convened..."_

The stock exchange, site of Bane's first assault upon Gotham's wheelers and dealers, was converted into a mock courthouse attended by crowds of jeering spectators. The trials were presided over by a freed criminal from Blackgate - Jonathan Crane. The wealthy people found themselves accused of high crimes and treason against the people of Gotham. The 'judge' pronounced sentence on them, pounding his gavel upon the trading floor's elevated bell podium.

The mob roared in approval.

Bane watched silently from an upper gallery.

_"The spoils will be enjoyed..."_

A once-exclusive apartment became Party Central. Dozens of squatters occupied the penthouse, helping themselves to whatever the first wave of looters had left behind. Winos, addicts, prostitutes, and homeless runaways cracked opened bottles of champagne, spraying one another with the foam while trampling over broken furniture and heirlooms. Hookers and crackheads put on an impromptu fashion show, modeling liberated furs and jewelry. A drunk peed in a corner.

"_Blood will be shed…"_

Hundreds of cops were living underground, dividing up supplies lowered by ropes. Bane makes sure that the majority of the cops, while held captive, aren't able to really fight back.

"_But the police will live, until they are ready to serve true justice…"_

The reactor core glowed brightly, and lit gauges crept toward the red zone, as the large metal sphere was loaded into the back of an unmarked black truck. Mercenaries made sure the bomb was secured within the vehicle.

"_This great city will endure. Gotham will survive."_

Inside the truck, a digital counter ticked toward zero.


	30. Ch28The Heir Of The Demon

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXVIII - The Heir Of The Demon**

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

Bruce couldn't bear to watch the news coverage any longer. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rocked back and forth on his cot – until he rolled over the edge and landed on the hard stone floor. A harsh grunt escaped his lips as he placed his palms against the grimy floor and pressed against it.

His caretaker stared at him in confusion, as if fearing that his charge had fallen by accident. Not until Bruce managed to lift his face a few inches from the ground did it become obvious that – insanely – he was trying to do a pushup.

_Just one rep_, Bruce ordered himself. _You can do it_!

His screaming spine thought otherwise.

From the next cell, the blind prisoner said something.

"He says you must first straighten your back," the European translated. He helped Bruce roll over onto his back. Every motion sent a bolt of searing pain up his spinal column.

"How would he know?" Bruce asked.

"He used to be a doctor," the other prisoner revealed. "A morphine addict who incurred the displeasure of powerful people. Including your masked friend."

"How?"

The prisoner sighed, perhaps realizing that Bruce would only keep asking. Or maybe he simply hoped to distract Bruce with a story. In any event, the European spoke softly, his voice hushed and doleful.

"Many years ago, Bane suffered severe injuries during a failed attack perpetrated by the League of Shadows. The doctor's fumbling attempts to repair the damage left him in perpetual agony. The mask delivers a gas that holds his pain at bay."

_Good to know_, Bruce thought. "Is Bane the man you spoke of? Was he the only one who managed to escape?"

The prisoner hesitated a little bit, as if he was not sure of what to answer, them spoke:

"There are many legends surrounding this place and about the man who had been able to cheat death and rise from the hell on earth. The most common story is that there was a mercenary working for the local warlord, who fell in love with his daughter. Their love was forbidden. So they fled away, married in secret and had a child."

He retrieved a rope from the hall and tied it under Bruce's arms.

"They lived happily and in peace for some time till the warlord found out their whereabouts. He send his henchmen to punish them. The warlord's daughter was killed trying to save her husband's life. The mercenary was condemned to this pit and their home was burned with everything inside."

Bruce shuddered at the thought of a family destroyed by prejudice and irascibility.

"His absurd imprisonment drew his sense of time and bleached the importance of everything else," the European continued. "The disgusting cell and the passing years had conspired to make him an animal. The only thing that kept him alive was his desire for revenge, to punish the villains and give justice to the righteous. When he finally escaped he got support in the only place willing to recruit and help people like him – the League of Shadows."

The blind doctor shouted from his cell. Bruce's caretaker nodded in understanding.

"This is Bane's prison now," he said. "Bane would not want his story told."

He knotted the rope securely beneath Bruce's arms, and then hurled the end over the open door of the cell, running around to take hold of it.

Tugging on the rope, he pulled Bruce upright against the bard.

Bruce screamed as if he was being tortured upon the rack.

Which – in a sense – he was.

The pain was like nothing he had ever known. Worse than the time the Scarecrow had set him on fire, or when the Joker had stabbed him in the side. Worse than the time he had hauled Ducard up over the edge of that cliff with just one arm.

He convulsed in torment, praying to pass out. He wasn't sure how much longer he could endure it, even after everything he had already been through. Oblivion would have been a mercy.

But there was no such luck.

The European tied the rope to the metals bars of the door. His fingers explored Bruce's spine, which only increased the torture. Razor-sharp spasms of pain rocketed up and down his brutalized body. He bit down on his lip as his caretaker located the source of the pain.

Bruce tasted blood.

"You have a protruding vertebra," the man said. "I'm going to force it back."

"How?" he asked, and he braced himself.

Without warning, the man punched him in the back, hard enough to rattle the door's rusty hinges. Bruce howled like a damned soul, suffering the most excruciating torment of hell, before finally sagging against the iron bars. Only the unforgiving rope, digging into his armpits, kept him from collapsing onto the floor. He hung limply.

"You stay like this," the other prisoner said. "Until you stand."

Bruce finally lost consciousness from the pain.

* * *

Days and nights blurred together as Bruce hung within the cell, drifting in and out of delirium. Only the pain in his back was constant, giving him no relief.

"Did you not think I'd return, Bruce?"

He looked up to see Rã's al Ghul, in his Henri Ducard guise, standing before him.

Icy blue eyes regarded Bruce with wry amusement.

"I told you I was immortal," he said.

_No, this is impossible_, Bruce thought. He vividly recalled a speeding monorail crashing to the street in a fiery explosion. "I watched you die," he gritted.

Rā's did not deny it.

"There are many forms of immortality."

A memory surfaced from the past. Images of Ducard, the League of Shadows temple and the Asian Rã's al Ghul crossed his mind.

"_My name is merely Ducard, but I speak for Rã's al Ghul, a man greatly feared by the criminal underworld. A man who could offer you a path."_

"_The League of Shadows has been a check against human corruption for thousands of years."_

"_You were my greatest student. It should be you standing by my side, saving the world."_

Returning to the present, he stared at Rā's. The League of Shadows had been existing for centuries. Their leader should be prepared to pass the baton to someone else – someone able to lead – when the time had come. The League simply had not ended with Rã's death.

"Bane was the mercenary. You trained him just like me," he said, "to lead those men. To be your successor. Your heir."

Rā's nodded.

"An heir to ensure that the League of Shadows fulfills its duty to restore balance to civilization."

Bruce knew what that meant.

"No…" But Rā's continued.

"You yourself fought the decadence of Gotham for years – with all your strength and resources, all your moral authority. And the only victory you could achieve was a lie. Finally, you understand. Gotham is beyond saving."

"No!" Bruce shouted. He strained against the rope holding him up. The pain in his back was nothing compared to the agony of knowing that his city was in peril – and there was nothing he could do about it.

Rā's passed sentence on Gotham, as he had so many years before.

"It must be allowed to die."


	31. Ch29No Man's Land

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Please don't forget to write just a few words after you read this chapter, and tell me what you think!_

* * *

**XXIX - No Man's Land**

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

As Bane's 'new order' was made present, Gotham ended up being wiped out by opportunists, commoners, criminals, mercenaries and fugitives from Blackgate prison. To keep the law, Commissioner Gordon and some of his companions tried to keep order, but failed to prevent Bane and his mercenaries to take over the city. Their effort was difficult and useless, since terrorists started to hunt every cop who still remained above the surface.

Miranda and Damian were forced to leave the comfort of her loft and seek shelter in a safer place. They gathered the belongings of greatest need and importance for that moment and went to the abandoned theater in Park Row.

Damian's friends celebrated his return but were viewing with suspicion the presence of the millionaire woman who accompanied him. He omitted the fact that she was indeed his biological mother, telling them she was just a friend who had helped him after his near-fatal encounter with Bane.

Miranda was unpacking her stuff in her new quarters when Damian came under the doorframe and knocked on it.

"Excuse me. Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure. This is your home afterall," she said, turning her shoulders and showing her face with a soft smile on it.

"Now it's ours," he declared. "I know it isn't the kind of luxury and comfort you're used to..."

"I haven't lived my whole life in luxury," she revealed. "Like you I was adopted," she paused when she noticed his surprised expression. "Come. Have a seat," she said and motioned towards the bed. "When I was five, my mother was killed and my father was imprisoned by the men who killed her."

His eyes went wide, his mouth agape. He remained listening in silence.

"The Tates found me and took me under their care. They were a wealthy family, but Mrs. Tate and her son were not so fond of me. They tried to become my life a living hell, especially after the death of my foster father. Luckily, when I was in my early teens a guardian came to my rescue. I lived under his protective wings till I came to America to attend the university," she concluded her narrative.

"Where you've met my father, I suppose..." he deduced.

"Yes," she confirmed flatly. Miranda had not yet revealed the true identity of Damian's father. But the boy was not stupid and had been virtually sure about his suspicions.

"This guardian... this protector you've mentioned was the same man who wanted you to be a successful professional woman and whom you hid your pregnancy?" he asked, curious.

"Yes. I couldn't disappoint him." Miranda said, omitting that 'her protector' was indeed her biological father. A man who had hoped to have all his expectations fulfilled, nothing less than that.

"What happened with Mrs. Tate and her son?"

"They died in a car crash. Victor was drunk and the roads are narrow and winding in that part of Switzerland. It was not a good combination," she explained.

"I see... So do you have no one? No family?" he asked with a genuine interest in her welfare.

"Now I have you," she said tenderly as she raised her hand to touch his face with a loving caress. He smiled back.

"I've been thinking about Mr. Fox plan... Do you think it's possible to recover the device?" he asked, showing interest in Lucius's idea. Too much interest for Miranda's tastes.

"No-no-no," she said while shook her head in negative. "I must know you for just a very little time but I know what is going through your head."

"But I can help!" he retorted. "I can't sit around waiting for the city to be blown up."

"I know, but this is not a work for you. Let it in the hands of the cops or the militaries," she objected, worried.

"Almost the entire police force is trapped in the sewers. Those who remained above the surface are being hunting down like dogs. Until now armed forces did nothing ... "

"But you're not going to risk your life! Those men are not ordinary criminals," she interrupted him and added, "and – for God's sake – you're just a boy!"

"Not an ordinary one," he said, stressing the word 'ordinary'.

"I'm not going to risk losing you again!" she spat, a little bit furious.

"I'll do something with or without your help," he declared with a defiant look, got up from the bed and left the room clearly angry.

Miranda sighed, defeated.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Winter came to Gotham.

Snow blanketed the deserted street as a tumbler patrolled the city, its thick tires carving deep tracks in the soggy white accumulation. Pools of dirty brown slush drowned the street corners. Icicles hung like stalactites from eaves and cornices. A bone-chilling wind howled through the concrete canyons. Feeble sunlight fought a losing battle against the cold.

Shivering, Foley crouched behind a parked SUV, holding his breath until the combat vehicle rounded the corner. He hoped the entombed cops were collecting the icy water. Nearly three months had passed since Bane had sprung his trap, and the buried officers had been living on scraps and captured vermin ever since. It was a wonder that the buried officers hadn't yet completely given up hope.

Three months in the dark.

Three months stuck in a hole while Bane and his followers ran roughshod over Gotham.

Whenever he could, he used to fed a kite string down through the grates until he could feel a tug on the other end. It was a crude way to stay in contact, but it was something.

A breeze kicked up, and the biting air stung his face. His breath frosted in front of his lips. It was time to get out of the cold.

A red plastic gas container sat on the sidewalk beside him. He picked it up and hurried away, promising himself that he would deliver another message soon.

Avoiding the major boulevards, he stuck to back alleys and secondary streets as he cautiously made his way across town. Even though it was broad daylight, the streets and sidewalks were largely deserted. Law-abiding folks were huddled in their homes, trying to ride out the occupation.

Bane's army of mercenaries and miscreants appeared to be staying indoors, as well. Foley found himself grateful for the harsh winter weather, which reduced the odds of running into any roving bands of troublemakers. He just needed to keep an eye out for the more dedicated enforcers. Otherwise, he'd end up on trial just for being a cop.

The subway would have been faster, but all lines had been shut down by the cave-ins. The monorail and buses had stopped running, too. Taxis were as scarce as law-abiding citizens – driving a cab was like asking to be carjacked. All of the schools, libraries, and post offices had been closed for months. Most had already been looted. Heaven help you if you needed a doctor or dentist.

* * *

_**All over town, Gotham City**_

After few days, the feeling that Batman had abandoned the city was very strong and Gotham became an apocalyptic scenario: in the midst of ruin and death, citizens – stuck in the island – regressed to a savagery state. The situation started to reveal the hidden evil in everyone's heart. However, a small group of regular citizens were gathering together to fight for their lives and rise up against Bane and his men.

The temperature continued to drop as his endless speech continued echoing all over the city.

_"The attribute of popular government in a revolution is at one and the same time virtue and terror. Terror without virtue is fatal; virtue without terror is impotent. The terror is nothing but justice, prompt, severe, inflexible; it is thus an emanation of virtue."_

With no choice, Miranda was forced to assist Damian in his endeavor and tried to contact Fox and Gordon. Which was a very difficult task, since Bane's men and their sympathizers were everywhere.

_"Citizens, did you want a revolution without revolution?"_

After Bane's siege of the city began, Fox spent much of the intervening period hiding in Wayne Enterprises property with fellow employees. And Gordon, with Foley's help and of the other officers, was in constant motion to avoid being caught by the terrorists.

At first, Damian tried to control the information inside Gotham with a group of informant friends and formed a resistance unit. They discovered that the mercenaries were keeping the bomb inside a truck which was moving constantly. But there were three of them and no one seem to know in which one the bomb was.

_"By sealing our work with our blood, we may see at least the bright dawn of universal happiness."_

The resistance acquired arms from former Blackgate inmates – who traded guns for needed supplies –, developed secret training areas, and tried to establish contact with people outside the city. They also needed to find a way to break the cops out from underground.

News reported that lots of well known citizens were missing, maybe even dead. Bruce Wayne was among those who had been missing without leaving traces. Gotham's favorite son had vanished after he had bankrupted and many rumors were being spreaded about it.

While Bruce was in the pit, it was Damian's and his allies efforts that spearhead the resistance against Bane.

* * *

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

After a particular difficult night, Damian – dressed in his stealth suit – returned to the Monarch Theater. He had spent the last hours patrolling the city across the rooftops, searching for more vantage points.

Silently – and quickly hiding from the cold outside – he went to his training room in the basement which had become his particular refugee since Miranda was now occupying his bedroom. He took off his hood, the utility belt and his domino mask/ night vision goggles, placing them on a desk beside him.

Miranda was watching him, hidden by the shadows. He did not seem to notice her presence and buried his face in his hands, letting out a sigh. He looked frustrated and tired.

She remembered what it was to be young, alone and terrified and realized that she would never be okay if she lose him again.

"DJ, are you alright? she asked kindly as she got close to him.

Wincing at the gentle touch on his shoulder, he stiffened his body and then lowered his head, hiding his features.

"Please, look at me."

Damian looked up. The pain reflected in his gray-blue eyes mirrored what she was experiencing.

Miranda covered his hand with hers. "It's normal to be scared."

The teen glowered. "I'm not scared."

_Damn, wrong word_. She should not have chosen it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I know you're a brave young man," she said sweetly, and he chuckled.

"Sometimes I think things would be easier if he were around here."

She froze. "He?"

"Batman," he answered quietly. "Do you think he's gonna coming back?" he asked looking directly into her eyes.

"I don't know," she guessed. "But if this will make you feel better – my sources said he is alive," she said almost in a whisper.

"Your sources?" he asked with arched eyebrows, clearly surprised by her news.

"Well," she started, "I know people who know people around the world who keep up with this kind of information."

Damian frowned. "You're saying that you know people that know where he is?"

"I don't know about his whereabouts. But there are some rumours - just rumours - claiming that his alter ego is alive and imprisoned in a place located in an ancient part of the world."

Although none of them had verbalized aloud, they both knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same person. And there was a kind of mutual and silent understanding between them in which both were aware of Wayne's double life as a superhero.

"Hold on a second. Have you known about underworld reports that are running around the world?" he inquired, trying to understand the situation.

Miranda knitted her brows. "It's not a subject I want to discuss with you. And please don't insist on that."

He sensed that there was something very wrong in that story.

"I think I have the right to know. You seem to know things that doesn't match with a woman like you. You've been helping to train my friends and myself in non-lethal fighting..." he paused and took a breath to continue, "and you've always talked about Bane as if you knew him quite well. After all, who are you really?"

Miranda felt her blood run cold. The severe expression in his young facial features made her feel as if she were looking at a different kid instead of the Damian that she had known.

"I asked who you really are!" he insisted furiously.

Miranda sighed. She was already tired of so many lies and omissions.

"I know him very well because I'm..." she interrupted herself and then proceeded, "I was one of them. I spent some time with the League of Shadows. They took me in and trained me years ago. But, since then, most of my duties had been related just with the financial aspects of the organization. Please, Damian, don't look at me like this way. I can explain..." she pleaded.

Damian was even more surprised and stunned when he heard the information. The tapestry came together in his mind.

"God. You helped him. You gave him the keys of that Pandora's box. You let him unleash this hell upon us, upon an entire city. How could you? What was the point after all?" he accused.

Miranda felt like if her world had turned upside down and was frightened by the hatred she saw in his face.

Her chin rose. "Bane wants to fulfill the League's mission and honor our leader's work by destroying Gotham and Batman. I've wanted revenge. Revenge against the man who made me suffer of every imaginable way," she confessed.

The reality struck him. His mind went back to the time when he had stolen Bruce Wayne's fingerprints. The people who had hired him had used that information to let the billionaire increasingly vulnerable and then give the fatal stabbing. Everyone had been colluded and at Bane's service.

He gave her a stern look. "And because of your hurting feelings you joined to that mad dog to destroy the city and send Batman to hell. You must be so psychopathic as Bane."

The humiliation hurt her. Stunned, she shook her head.

"I didn't wanted to destroy the city," she tried to explain. "My first intention was – once Bane gave a lesson to Wayne - to flood the reactor's chamber before he could put his hands on it."

"Your stupid plan failed. Gosh! Whatever my real dad had done for you and no matter how pissed you were, nothing justifies ending innocent people's lives."

He knew... He knew who was his real father.

"You don't understand..." she began but was interrupted by him.

"Oh, I do understand. I understand you completely. You're a monster like Bane. The saddest thing about all this is that I was already beginning to see you as my real mother. But now I don't wanna be the devil's spawn anymore."

If Miranda was so consumed by revenge where he fit in this story? Does everything she had done so far were coldly calculated steps from a person who had only revenge in mind?

She contracted her muscles, like she'd been stabbed. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them away. The truth hurt, but she felt her heart ache even more. Before she could say anything, Damian gave her a blank look.

"Well, I want you gone right now! I don't want you here anymore. Leave. Now," he shouted.

Miranda stood in silence for a split second, then turned and leaved the room, feeling numbed. She could not find words. She was now paying the price for be a sadistic, to have desired that she would only stop when she thought her revenge had been the cruelest possible. She just had not calculated that she could get hurt again.


	32. Ch30First Climb

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. And please don't forget to write a review or comment._

* * *

**XXX - First Climb**

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

The European cautiously untied the rope, ready to catch Bruce if he fell.

The delirium had passed, taking the ghosts with it, and Bruce could think clearly again. But that wasn't enough. He had to know if he was still broken.

Bracing himself for the pain, he took a deep breath and placed his weight upon his bare feet.

A wave of dizziness assailed him, and he tottered slightly, but the light-headedness was only momentary and he steadied himself. His legs felt weak and rubbery from disuse, but at least he was standing on his own power again. His bad knee still bothered him, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.

"That's enough for today," his caretaker said anxiously. He came forward to offer assistance. "You should rest."

Bruce shook his head. He had rested enough already. Gotham needed him.

He took a step forward. And another.

* * *

Days passed as Bruce rebuilt his body. He needed to rebuild muscles that lost their shape, sharpen reflexes dulled by long hours stuck to his cot and become the man he had already been. His caretaker watched in wonder as Bruce did pushups against the floor of his cell, working until sweat dripped from his pale, unshaven face. Breathing hard, he pushed himself to his limits – and beyond. His back still ached, but it was bearable now, and getting better over time. Or so he wanted to think.

He paused for a moment before trying for another fifty reps.

_How easy it had been... _How he had delighted in the night! Every fiber of his being remembered, crying out for one more time.

The European sat on a bench a few feet away. He watched Bruce with a puzzled expression. "Why build yourself?"

Bruce pushed himself up off the floor again.

"I'm not meant to die here."

The decrepit television set played in the background. A caption running beneath the latest news coverage read, "SIEGE OF GOTHAM: DAY 84."

"Here? There?" The older prisoner indicated the TV screen. "What's the difference?"

Bruce ignored the man's fatalistic attitude. That was the pit talking. He couldn't afford to let his spirit weaken, even for a moment. He had work to he pushed himself ever harder.

_One…two…three…_

* * *

Finally, it was time to climb for the sun.

Bruce emerged from his cell and walked towards the colossal wall. He took the rope from the tattooed prisoner and wrapped it around his chest. Curious prisoners gathered on the base, with the European at their head.

Bruce stared up at the distant sunlight, hundreds of feet above his head. Then he approached the wall.

_If Bane can do it, so can I._

So he started to make the climb. The inmates got excited as he was ascending and money started exchanging into their hands. Enthusiastic voices rose from below as the crowd observed his progress. The chanting began anew.

_I wonder how the betting is going._

Reaching the precipice, he checked his rope and looked up at the next handhold, far away.

_Here goes nothing._

He took a breath and then leapt for the upper ledge, stretching out his arms as far as they could reach.

His fingers brushed against the rugged stone edge of the ledge but slipped away, dropping him a hundred feet. The rope got caught, breaking his fall – jolting his already aching spine – and slamming him into the rock face.

The prisoners dispersed as soon as they lost their interest and the tattooed prisoner lowered Bruce on the rope. He collapsed onto a steel gantry.

The European sighed, unsurprised by the outcome of the climb. The blind doctor listened attentively, then turned away.

"I told you it could not be done," the European said. He helped Bruce to his feet.

Bruce winced with every step, and his ribs felt freshly bruised.

"You told me someone did it."

"No ordinary one."

_**Flashback**_

_How long had he been in the pit? For some time he counted the days and weeks. But in the horrible cell, every day was the same as the next. Sometimes the memory of another life dangled before him like a fantasy. Had he lived a great love, beside a beautiful woman? Had he had a family? Now he was living like a caught and forgotten animal._

_Years had passed and the mercenary approached the climbing wall. He had decided that he would not spend one more day in that hell. He would make the rise without the rope. The mercenary didn't care. All that mattered was seeing again what lay beyond the pit – and wreaking his vengeance on the rest of the world._

_Scrambling up the sides of the shaft, he reached the fatal precipice that had killed the hopes of so many other climbers. Determined eyes glanced down at the only friend he had made in prison, who was in the middle of the others prisoners, chanting a chant so ancient as the world._

_Aflame voices encouraged him. When he reached the more complicated and dangerous point of his climb he jumped over the abyss. Desperate hands grabbed onto solid rock. An athletic body swung up onto the ledge._

_**End of flashback**_

"A man who had nothing to lose because he already had lost everything, even his soul," the white-haired prisoner said. "A man forged by suffering. Hardened by pain."

He shook his head sadly at Bruce.

"Not a man born and raised into privilege."

Defeated, Bruce staggered back to his cell. His eyes closed in despair.


	33. Ch31Betrayal

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXXI - Betrayal **

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Supply trucks approached the checkpoint on the bridge. Armed mercenaries inspected the trailer of an idling eighteen-wheeler, finding only crates of emergency rations. A guard helped himself to an energy bar before giving the driver the go-ahead.

The truck drove through the snow-covered streets, which were badly in need of plowing, until it pulled up in front of a dimly lit supermarket. A long line of Gothamites – stretching all the way down the block – waited miserably along the sidewalk, braving the frigid winter weather for a chance to replenish their dwindling stores. Hungry children cried impatiently.

Inside the truck, hidden from view, the lid of a crate opened just a crack. Captain Mark Jones, US Special Forces, peered out to make sure all was clear. Finding the trailer compartment free of hostiles, he climbed out from beneath several bags of rice and rapped the sides of four other crates.

A quartet of Special Forces operatives, wearing nondescript civilian clothing, emerged from the boxes and checked their automatic weapons before concealing them once again.

The back door of the truck rattled open and he and his men began to unload the supplies.

* * *

_**In a Supermarket lower storeroom, Gotham City**_

Commissioner James Gordon alongside his fellows were waiting impatiently for the Special Forces arrive. Thanks to Damian's and his allies efforts they could combine in advance a lure operation with the militaries so they could perform a mission to retake the city from Bane's hands.

All of a sudden, Detective Crispus Allen arrived accompanied by three people. Two young women and an elderly man.

"Jesus, Allen. What the hell are you doing here? You should be watching our back," Gordon scolded as soon as he saw that more people than necessary were there.

"Calm down, Commissioner," he replied calmly. "I've brought some reinforcements." He motioned his head towards the visitors. "They've decided to join us," he concluded, smiling.

Right away Gordon recognized the two ladies – Detective Romy Chandler and Sergeant Ellen Yindel. They should have been hidden all that time, afraid of being caught by the terrorists. They exchanged nods with Gordon in greeting.

The old man took a step forward solemnly. "Chief Clancy O'Hara reporting for duty, Sir."

Then Gordon recognized the retired cop. The man was a legend in GCPD. He was touched by O'Hara's attitude but he was not so sure if he should involve someone who had already given the city a lot and was now enjoying a well deserved rest.

"Thank you, Chief. But there's no need of..." he started but was interrupted by O'Hara.

"You guys will need every possible help, including the experience of an older soldier."

"Right," Gordon accepted the help he was offering. The man was right. They would need all the help possible. At moments like this, the Commissioner liked to think that his caped friend was somewhere out there, getting ready to save the city one more time. But he had no idea if Batman was still alive or if he was already dead.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Special Forces men were carrying the boxes into the store as if they were delivering. A nervous-looking store manager led them into the back of the store, then down a flight of stairs into a storeroom in the basement, where they are met by half a dozen cops out of uniform.

"You have ID?" Deputy Commissioner Foley asked.

Jones recognized Foley from his briefing.

"Of course not."

Foley eyed the newcomers warily.

"How can we trust you?"

"We don't have any choice," James Gordon said as he emerged from the back of the room.

"Commissioner Gordon?" Jones was glad to see the wounded man up and about. There had been conflicting reports about his status. He held out his hand. "Captain Jones. Special Forces."

"Captain," Gordon replied. "Glad to have you here."

Jones glanced around the storeroom, anxious to assess the situation.

"How many of you are there?"

"Dozens," Gordon said cautiously. "I'd rather not say exactly. But the men trapped underground number almost three thousand."

Jones whistled softly. That matched with what he had heard.

"What kind of shape are they in?"

"They've been getting water, food," Gordon said.

"Could we break them out?"

"Yes," Foley stated. "Take out the mercenaries guarding the outflow pipe south of Ackerman Park, blow the rubble, you've got a hole big enough for ten at a time. I'm in contact with them – they're waiting for the day."

Jones was skeptical, but it was one of his men who voiced it.

"Men who haven't seen daylight for three months," the man said.

"Men with automatic weapons," the Deputy Commissioner stressed, "who haven't seen daylight for three months."

Good point, Jones acknowledged silently. That has to count for something.

"What about the bomb?" he asked. "The satellite can't see any radiation hot spots."

"They keep it on a truck," Gordon reported. "It must have a lead-lined roof. They move it constantly."

Jones nodded. The brass had suspected as much.

"But you know the truck?"

"They've got three of them," Gordon said. "The routes don't vary much."

A shell game, Jones realized.

"What about the trigger man?"

"No leads," Gordon said. He paused, then offered his own theory. "It's a bluff. Bane wouldn't give control of that bomb to someone else."

"We can't take that chance," Jones said. "Until we have the triggerman, we just track the device, smuggle men over..."

That clearly wasn't enough for Foley, who spoke up.

"Meanwhile Gotham lives under a warlord," he said irritably, "like in some failed state."

"Dial it back, officer." Jones sympathized with the man's frustration, especially after nearly three months, but they needed to keep cool heads where that nuke was concerned. "This situation is unprecedented. We can't do anything that might risk millions of lives."

Foley turned to Gordon.

"Aren't you going to tell him?"

"Captain," Gordon began, "things are more complicated than you think. There's somebody you need to meet." He addressed someone by name. "DJ?"

A teenager stepped forward from the shadows of a nearby set of shelves.

"Commissioner," he greeted. "Guys."

"Who is this kid and what the hell he's doing here?" Jones spat.

Before DJ could introduce himself, Gordon took the lead. "This young man is the leader of the resistance group that you managed to contact."

"Captain," DJ said. "My name's Damian Blake, Sir – DJ for short."

Jones was aware of a resistance unit formed by some citizens, and it was thanks to it that he and the other operatives were able to meet up with the police force that was not trapped underground. He nodded in response.

"If you guys could follow me..." the kid said and turned, leading Jones and his men up the stairs and then to a rear exit of the supermarket. Puzzled, Jones departed with him men. Weapons in hand, they stealthily made their way down a series of back alleys and side streets.

Jones let DJ take point. They were on his turf now.

* * *

_**Tellson's Bank, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Several blocks later, they crept through the back door of what turned out to be an empty bank. Their footsteps echoed throughout the lifeless building as they crossed the lobby and rode the elevator to the top floor offices – which proved to be home to several displaced refugees, either driven from their homes or hiding from Gotham's new masters. Men, women, and children huddled in every corner, camping out even in the halls and stairwells. Many still had the shell-shocked look of disaster victim.

Sleeping bags and makeshift cots lined the carpeted corridor. Trash cans were overflowing with empty food containers and wrappers.

"The people who run the corporation that owns it living here," DJ informed.

Jones regarded the huddled survivors.

"Which corporation?"

"Wayne Enterprises," a distinguished-looking black man answered. He came forward to meet them, accompanied by a brunette several years his junior. His collar was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up.

No longer in the Monarch Theater, Miranda got shelter at the empty bank. She was wearing a belted plum tunic and black leggings. Her face was pale and thin, while her eyes were dark and burdened with heavy bags from her sleepless nights. They got brilliant with excitement when she spotted her son.

The sight of it startled DJ. It seemed she was suffering and he was almost regretting his decision to send her away from his home and from his life. Since that fateful night they had barely exchanged a couple of words. He regained his composure and focused on the moment. All he needed was to ignore her presence.

"Captain, meet Mr. Fox," DJ said. "Mr. Fox, I'd like you to brief the captain."

"Hold on," Jones said. He cast a pointed look in Miranda's direction.

"Miss Tate is fully aware of the situation," Fox assured him.

"And as CEO of Wayne Enterprises," she said, "I have to take responsibility for it."

Jones gave her a closer look.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because, captain, we built it."

_And you gave it to Bane_, DJ added in thought.

He lowered his head in an attempt to avoid looking straight at her face. The face of a liar. A part of him wanted to scream from the rooftops that she was the only one to blame here. But another part of him said that he should keep quiet or he could put everything to lose.

"You built the bomb?" Jones didn't understand. This hadn't been in his briefing.

"It was built as a fusion reactor," Fox said, keeping his voice low. "The first of its kind. Bane turned the core into a bomb, then disconnected it from the reactor."

"And here's the important part," DJ prompted.

"As the device's fuel cells decay," Fox said, "it's becoming increasingly unstable, until the point of detonation."

DJ spelled it out.

"The bomb's a time bomb."

"And it will go off," Fox stated gravely. "In twenty-three days."

Jones couldn't believe his ears. An already hellish situation had just gotten infinitely worse. He reeled at the news.

"Bane's revolution's a sham," DJ explained. "He's watching Gotham rearrange its deck chairs while the whole ship's going down. Your appeasement plan might not be as practical as you thought."

Jones scowled at DJ. The teenager was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He looked again at Fox.

"Could you disarm it?" he asked.

"I don't know," Fox said. "But I could reconnect it to the reactor. Stabilize it."

That was something, at least. Jones considered his next move, adapting to this distressing new intel.

"We have to let the Pentagon know."

"They'll be monitoring our frequencies," one of his men cautioned.

"We have no choice," Jones said. Washington had to know that there was a ticking clock in this scenario. "Let's move away from this location, then call it in."

DJ didn't disagree. He escorted Jones and his men back to the elevator, without even bothering to say goodbye to his own mother.

Jones wanted to put at least four or five blocks between them and the bank before he broke radio silence. He waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the ground floor. All of a sudden, every moment counted.

A chime sounded. The elevator door slid open and Jones led his team out into the vacant lobby. They were halfway across the floor when all hell broke loose. Mercenaries blasted them with machine guns and the lobby became a devastating ambush.

Quickly, DJ dived back into the elevator. Bullets blew through the door as it slid shut behind him, and he flattened himself against the wall. He waited a second to see if any of Jones's men had survived the ambush long enough to join him, then he hit the button for the top floor.

Gunfire, and the cries of dying soldiers, rang out from below.

_Sorry, captain,_ DJ thought. _I wish your mission had ended differently. You and your men deserved better than this. _But he couldn't worry about the murdered soldiers now. Miranda, Fox and the others were still in danger. They needed to get out of there, pronto!

The elevator hit the top floor. DJ rushed out into the corridor.

"Fox!" he hollered. "Somebody sold us out!"

His eyes meet Miranda's frightened gaze. She and Fox were already in the hall, trying to herd everyone toward the fire exits. They had all heard the gunfire downstairs. Terrified refugees screamed and shouted. Pandemonium spread through the corridors and offices.

"Take Miranda," Fox urged DJ, putting her safety first.

But before DJ could grab her by the wrist, she pulled away from them.

"No! Take him, DJ. Please!" she begged. Then she turned to Fox. "You're more important to them than me. You're our only hope to disarm the bomb."

DJ hesitated during a millionth fraction of a second. He could not leave her at the mercy of those criminals. She was her long lost mother after all. But she had a point. Fox was important outside.

The two nodded to her and hurried toward the back stairs, even as the elevators chimed once more.

Mercenaries burst out, firing high. Overhead lights exploded. Sparks and broken glass rained down on the crowded hallway. More screams came from the cornered refugees. People scurried into the nearest offices or threw themselves flat.

DJ dragged Fox down the stairs.

"Down on the floor!" a gunman shouted.

Miranda froze in place. Realizing there was no escape, she raised her hands above her head and lowered herself to the floor.

Jones lay gasping upon the blood-stained floor of the lobby, surrounded by the bodies of his unlucky brothers-in-arms. A crimson pool spread beneath him, his shattered limbs twitched uselessly. An awful cold swept over him, chilling him to the bone. He felt his life slipping away.

_No_, he thought desperately. _Not yet. I need to warn Washington about that nuke_.

Heavy footsteps approached. He looked up to see a huge man crossing the lobby toward him. Bane. The terrorist leader nudged Jones with the toe of his boot, eliciting an agonized gasp. He bent to examine the dying soldier. His bizarre mask, which now figured prominently in the nightmares of the entire world, concealed his intentions. Yet cold black eyes held not a hint of sympathy or compassion.

Jones glared at him defiantly.

"I'll die before I talk."

Bane nodded. "I'm on your schedule, captain."

A powerful hand clasped itself over Jones's mouth and nose, cutting off his air. The soldier tried to breathe, fighting for even a few more minutes of life, but Bane's grip was too strong. He convulsed upon the floor, then stopped struggling… forever.

"There were people upstairs," a mercenary reported as Bane rose from the dead captain's body.

"Give them over for judgment." He gestured at the lifeless remains of the American soldiers. "Hang them where the world will see."


	34. Ch32Deshi Basara - Pt 1

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXXII - Deshi Basara - Part I**

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_  
Barbaric images flickered upon the television screen. A headline crawled along the bottom of the report.

**SPECIAL FORCES BODIES HANG IN THE CABLES OF GOTHAM BRIDGE**

Bruce stared in horror at the television. The lifeless bodies of the Special Forces men were hung in the cables of Gotham Bridge as a warning. Bloody flags were wrapped around the corpses, looking like shrouds.

Furious, Bruce threw a stone into the screen, destroying the television.

_What is Bane doing to my city?_

The knowledge that such atrocities were transforming Gotham drove Bruce to accelerate his already-brutal exercise regime. Endless pushups, squats, and stretches filled his every waking hour until he barely remembered to eat or sleep. It was as if the League of Shadows was training him, all over again. One cell over, the blind doctor listened to Bruce's exertions. He spoke out in an ancient tongue.

"He says the leap to freedom is not about strength," the European translated.

Bruce disagreed. He shadow-boxed inside his cell, throwing punches and kicks at the empty air.

"My body makes the jump."

"Survival is the spirit," the blind man said, surprising Bruce by speaking in broken English. His accent was thick, but his meaning came through, more or less. "The soul."

"My soul's as ready to escape as my body," Bruce insisted. Maybe more so.

The blind man shook his head.

"Fear is why you fail."

"I'm not afraid," Bruce countered. "I'm angry." He punched the air, imagining Bane's ugly face before him. He visualized that grotesque black mask cracking beneath his knuckles, the same way Bane had cracked Batman's cowl. He couldn't wait to get even.

_Soon_, he promised himself.

* * *

_**Basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

The basement of the stock exchange was now a dungeon. Stockbrokers, lawyers, executives, industrialists, and other modern-day aristocrats huddled together in the crowded prison, which bore little resemblance to the luxury they had once enjoyed.

For Miranda, there was nothing more painful to the human spirit than the tragic morass that ensued the rapid succession of tumultuous events and feelings, just like the bleak landscape of a forest after the passage of a destructive storm.

Lots of people were dying, but she was still alive. Her blood continued to flow through her veins but nothing could remove the suffering and remorse that were overwhelming her. She was wandering as a lost soul, because she felt she had been the causer of acts of unspeakable horror and was convinced more was yet to come.

She had initiated her revenge with the intent of putting an end to a painful chapter of her life. Now, everything had fallen apart. Instead of peace of mind that would allow her to look with serenity to the past – getting from it new hopes –, she was struggling in the grip of remorse, denying what she had done, plunging into a sense of guilt that was dragging her to a hell hard to be described by any human language.

Over the recent years, Miranda had expressed different feelings regarding Bruce. Some had been experienced with greater intensity, others were only apparent and many of them were contradictory.

Bane had taken advantage of her Achilles heel – her anger and grief – to perpetrate his own destructive mission against Gotham. When she had shown some resistance, he had reminded her that Bruce Wayne – aka Batman – was responsible for her father's death and she should honor his memory by fulfilling his work. His charisma and leadership had convinced the remaining members of the League to join him and embark on that suicidal journey.

Sitting in a corner away from everyone, she got a good look at all those people around her. Their scared and apprehensive gazes were making them look like cattle waiting for slaughter.

She sighed and closed her eyes in an attempt to make all those nightmarish images disappear from her view. But the solution just seemed worse than the problem, since memories of more than fifteen years ago started popping up in her mind.

_**Flashback**_

_After a few days that Bruce had gone to Gotham to follow Joe Chill's conditional hearing, despair washed over Miranda. Despite saying with all the letters that he did not love her and that he could never love her, she still cared about him. He had not said goodbye and the way he had departed made her worried. She saw on the news that Chill had been killed at his exit of the court and she feared that Bruce could be involved with the death of the criminal. She knew the feeling he had nourished all those years after the death of his parents. She herself could have killed one by one all those involved in the destruction of her family, but his real father had taken it upon himself._

_All her attempts to contact him had failed and even his butler seemed to have no idea where his employer was. She considered contacting her father and ask for help, but she thought it would be better not to involve him in her own problems. Furthermore, this man was no longer the same man she had known when she had been a little girl. Her 'new father' had become a dark moody man, consumed by a twisted desire for justice, which eventually leading to tear them apart._

_The days turned into weeks and her state of mind started to reflect on her body. In the first two weeks she had not bothered much, but another week had passed. And another. Miranda felt dominated by a weariness that was as odd to her as the dizziness and nausea that affected her almost every day. Had she contracted a virus? Thankfully, the end of the Autumn Term were right around the corner, as she had no conditions to follow her classes._

_She had postponed the idea to seek medical help as much as she could, believing that whatever she had would pass by itself. However, fate made the decision for her when she once fainted in the middle of campus. That morning she had woken up feeling sick again but still continued with her usual routine. Moments later, as she headed to one of her classes, her vision blackened and she lost senses, awakening later in the university infirmary._

_The doctor's diagnosis fell like a bomb on her lap. She was pregnant; all those sintomas weren't stress._

_Upon receiving the news she looked at the doctor stunned, while absorbing those words. Then she gulped and said nothing. There simply was nothing to say._

_She had taken precautions. Both of them had – sort of in most of the times – and she thought that couldn't be possible. Yet it seemed that no method was one hundred percent free of faults, except abstinence. That child was conceived against most odds._

_The mere idea that she might be pregnant terrified her. Take care of herself and her own needs it was already a challenge. Trying to reason with some clarity, she ordered herself not to panic. Would it be no good doing that?_

_So she made a decision. She would go to Gotham City next weekend. Would try to contact Bruce Wayne at whatever it took._

* * *

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

Finally, Bruce was ready to attempt the wall again.

He took the rope at the foot of the climb and knotted around him once more, the thick coils chafing against his bruised ribs. The prisoners glanced up, but none of them bothered to gather round.

That was fine with Bruce. He wasn't doing this for an audience.

He began to climb, determined, letting his fury drive him. Breathing hard, he fought against the cliff face.

_I'm coming for you, Bane._

A loose piece of rock came away in his hand. Losing his grip on the wall, he fell once more. The rope yanked taut, digging into his chest and armpits, and he swung into the wall again. If anything, the collision felt more brutal than before. The pain of yet another failure battered his soul even as the unforgiving stone punished his body. He dangled upside-down, hanging helplessly at the bottom of the pit.

The blind prisoner shook his head while the European was playing cards with a skinny, underfed inmate, who looked up at Bruce.

"Shouldn't you get him down?" the bony prisoner asked.

The European shrugged and played another card.

"He'll keep," he said, disdainful.

* * *

_**Flashback continuation**_

_The journey from Princeton to Gotham, though short, proved to be a martyrdom. In panic and nauseous, Miranda thought her nerves could not endure more the waiting. She would have a baby and was completely terrified of the reaction that the news could cause on the two most important men of her life – Bruce and his father._

_Finally the cab stopped in front of the Wayne Manor, she could exit the car and take a deep breath. She looked around and watched in amazement the huge property. The Tates owned a large house that could be considered a mansion, but Wayne State was practically a gigantic Gothic palace._

_She headed toward the main door and rang the bell. Some time later, she was welcomed by a sympathetic gentleman with a heavy british accent. She recognized him as Alfred J. Pennyworth – the man who had raised Bruce since his parents had been killed._

_Alfred had never seen Miranda in person but had spoken to her several times by phone, when she had been asking for Bruce. He examined her with veiled scrutiny and realized that the young woman was very thin and appeared to be fatigued._

Was she doing some fad diet? _he rationalized._

_"I'm sorry to inform you Miss Tate, but he has not contacted anyone. As I said on the phone, Master Wayne seems to have suffered some kind of personal crisis and vanished."_

_Before Alfred could proceed, a young woman appeared to her sight, coming from inside the house. She came over smiling and turned to the older man. She was Rachel Dawes._

_"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had visits ... "_

_The butler immediately introduced the two women to each other. He did not mention that Miranda had some sort of romantic relationship with his employer, but merely said that she was a friend of his._

_"Bruce always talked about you. He told me you two grew up together and you're his best friend," Miranda said, trying to keep a smile on her face. She did not expect to find Rachel there. An wave of uneasiness struck her again with violence. She blinked and tried to focus on what the attractive brunette was saying before her._

"_... but Bruce never told me about you. What is no wonder, because since he went to Princeton we've started talking to each other less and less. And now he's missing..." she complained with a shrug while Miranda remained silent._

"_Keep the faith, young ladies. I'm sure Master Bruce is alive and well," Alfred said, in an attempt to lift their flag flying and cut out the tension in the room. Although he had hired the services of some detectives which did not come to anything, Alfred refused to believe Bruce was dead. Also, he secretly wished Bruce never would returned to that city which was a constant reminder of his loss._

_Suddenly, Miranda's stomach gave her a final ultimatum and she knew she would vomit. So she politely asked if she could use the toilet and did the only thing that remained to do, discreetly placed a hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom, embarrassed._

_Luckily, she managed to get in time to lean over the vase as a wave of nausea plagued her. Moments later, while sitting on the floor and taking a deep breath, she put her apprehensive fingers over her tummy and whispered:_

"_Oh, please don't rebel on me now. How about if you behave a bit so I can get out of here with some dignity, huh?"_

_She slowly got up and washed her hands and congested face with cold water. Then she picked up some toiletries items inside of her purse and made some upgrade on her look._

_When leaving the toilet, she saw two pairs of eyes focused attentively on her. Alfred was the first to express himself._

"_Are you alright, Miss Tate?"_

_Clearly, she was not, but she made a huge effort to pretend._

"_It must've been something I ate," she said, without trying to hide what had happened. "And the simple idea that something bad could have happened to Bruce leaves me somewhat apprehensive," she managed to say, emphasizing the words with a smile._

_Immediately she started her farewells, kindly denying the butler's invitation to stay for the weekend at the mansion. Alfred was in fact a considerate and extremely polite host._

_Now Rachel promptly offered her a ride to downtown, saying that Miranda should dismiss the cab and enjoy that the two were going to the same place. At first, Miranda hesitated, but Rachel was able to convince her otherwise._

_Then Alfred bid farewell to the two young women and they headed towards the town._

_Rachel asked if Miranda was booked at some hotel. Miranda said she still had not arranged for this and maybe she would return to Princeton in that same afternoon. Rachel argued that she looked tired and she should rest a bit, so she invited her to go to her apartment._

_Miranda could not say no again. The DA assistant had an incredible persuasion power and was extremely gentle. She was a beautiful – not the kind of highly sensuous or threatening beauty – and intelligent girl, who knew what she wanted and had a big heart. It was not for nothing that Bruce loved that woman with all his heart. She could not feel angry or jealous of her and under other circumstances she would have considered the possibility of becoming friends._

_Rachel lived alone in a tiny apartment in downtown. Once there, she soon volunteered to prepare something to eat and drink. But when she heard about food, Miranda felt her stomach began to revolt against it inside her. It was always like that, the nausea hit her in the most inopportune moments. And now, in front of Rachel Dawes could not be worse. She disguised herself and put a hand over her belly, praying that the uneasiness would pass quickly._

_"Where is the bathroom?" she asked, her voice almost whispered, her words almost indistinguishable. Rachel's gaze turned to her with a certain awkwardness._

"_Over there. First door on the left," Rachel indicated and Miranda rushed there._

_Past just few minutes, Miranda appeared even paler. She had been sick. That was obvious._

_Rachel asked if she was okay and Miranda assured she was, then deliberately took a deep breath and yawned to hide her uneasiness. Rachel still seemed in doubt and Miranda felt welcomed by the concern that she could see on the other woman's face._

_It was then that Rachel can not restrain herself and poured a couple of questions._

_"Not that it's none of my business, but are you pregnant? Is it Bruce's?" There was no hostility in her voice but rather a deep concern._

_Panicking, Miranda took a deep breath and decided to tell some lies and half truths. She did not know if she could trust Rachel but she was also aware the young lawyer would not let her in peace until she had answers._

_"You're right. This is none of your business. But yes, I am. And no, it's not Bruce's child. We are just friends," she forced herself to say, pretending nonchalance._

_Rachel noticed she had hesitated a moment before answering._

_"So your frantic concern to discover his whereabouts is because you two are just friends?" she asked suspiciously._

_"I've said it. I imagine that other people are worried about him but myself, you and Alfred, of course."_

_"Not really. Bruce has never been the too much sociable type," Rachel announced, sad and despondent._

"_Me too. That 's why I value our friendship so much..." Miranda's voice staggered. For a short time she examined a chance to get out of that tight spot. "I came to Gotham because I have no one else to trust. Maybe Bruce could help me..."_

_"Bruce, help you? How? And your baby's father? Rachel asked._

_Miranda pursed her lips tightly. The more she tried to escape, the more she led herself into a web of lies._

_"The baby's father is not in the picture anymore. I've thought maybe Bruce could get me a job around here. After all, he is the owner of the Wayne Enterprises and I'd like to take a break from college until the baby is born... " but her voice trembled and she can not continue. She sounded tired and exhausted._

_Rachel understood the situation and then said in a soft voice: " Well, even if Bruce would be around here, he doesn't get much involved with his own company business... Are you sure you want to interrupt your studies? Many girls continue to study... " but she was interrupted by Miranda._

_"I can't and don't wanna go on there. At least for now. I need to find a job around here or elsewhere. But I can't go back there," she said, emphasizing the last sentence._

_Suddenly Rachel looked at her and smiled, as if she had just had an idea._

_"I think I have a solution. Sometimes I work as a volunteer in a pro bono law office. We are in need of a receptionist slash secretary slash assistant. If you agree, the job can be yours. Unfortunately the pay is minimal and the office is in the Narrows – a rough neighborhood, but I think I can let you off the hook. So? What do you think? " she asked, excited._

_Miranda was astonished to feel tears burning her eyes. She was not the crying type, but lately her emotions were in a chaotic state. She had just met that woman and had every reason in the world to feel at least jealous of her relationship with Bruce. However, at that moment she was feeling just an enormous gratitude and sympathy for her._

_"But that easy? I don't need to do some sort of test?" she asked thrilled._

_"If you want the job, just show up at this address on the next Monday," Rachel said while she was writing the address on a piece of paper._

_"Thank you," Miranda thanked her and laughed, feeling relax. Unexpectedly, Rachel approached her and wrapped her in a warm and fragrant hug._

_"Welcome to Gotham."_

_Staying in there seemed like a good idea at that time. So, Miranda refused to leave Gotham and remained waiting for Bruce's return._


	35. Ch33Deshi Basara - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXXIII - Deshi Basara - Part II**

_**The Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

As Bruce drifted into unconsciousness an old memory came to his mind.

_**Dream flashback**_

_An eight years old version of him was lying at the bottom of the well, looking up at his father, lowering down to rescue him._

_He could hear his father's voice._

_"And why do we fall?" he asked._

_Bruce knew the answer. Had known it his entire life._

"_To learn to pick ourselves up."_

_**End of flashback dream**_

Bruce awoke on his cot with a start. This time his father would not be coming to rescue him. He would have to save himself.

_But how?_

The blind doctor was there, sitting in the next cell. He cleared his throat to get Bruce's attention.

"You do not fear death. You think this makes you strong. This makes you weak," he said in a cracked English.

Bruce didn't understand. He had always fought to overcome his fear.

"Why?" he asked.

"How can you move faster than possible," the other man asked, "fight longer than possible, if not from the most powerful impulse of the spirit? The fear of death. The will to survive."

_Self-preservation_, Bruce realized. He got up on his elbow, ignoring the latest battery of aches and bruises.

"I do fear death," he said. "I fear dying in here while my city burns with no one there to save it."

"Then make the climb," the blind man said.

_I've already tried that_, Bruce thought. _Twice._

"How?" he asked.

"As the only one who escaped did. Without the rope." The blind man cackled. "Then fear will find you again."

Bruce pondered the doctor's words all night, weighing the risks, before finally reaching a decision. Early next morning, he prepared for what was bound to be his final ascent, one way or another. He put some scraps of bread into a rough coat which he folded into a makeshift shoulder pack.

The European watched him pack.

"Oh! Supplies for your journey? That's wonderful," he said derisively.

Nearby prisoners began a low familiar chant as Bruce marched toward the cliff face yet again, this time decked out as if he actually expected to reach the top. His caretaker followed after him, intrigued by Bruce's new demeanor.

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked the European, intrigued about the chant.

"Rise," the older man said flatly.

At the foot of the climb, the tattooed man offered Bruce the safety rope. Bruce shook his head, and waved it off.

_Not this time._

He started to climb and word rapidly spread that the crazy American had refused the rope. A crowd gathered to watch the literally death-defying ascent.

He made his way cautiously up the treacherous rock face. Down below the prisoners kept singing the chant. As Wayne hoisted himself up onto the precipice, something exploded in a flurry of leathery wings from the cliff face. He flinched as bats from a close nest surrounded him. That momentarily transported him back to that abandoned well, so many years ago.

The bats screeched in his ears, buffeting his face and body, threatening to dislodge him. His heart pounded wildly.

A long-buried fear came flapping out of his past.

_Good_, Bruce thought as he closed his eyes.

The bats circled up to the opening above, like an omen. The chant started to rise, encouraging him. Even the blind prisoner joined the chorus. He took a breath, opened his eyes, looked down at the drop and up again.

_This is it_, Bruce thought. _All or nothing._

So he jumped. Time skipped a beat as the other prisoners stopped breathing, fully alert to what was happening.

And Bruce managed to grab the ledge above. The inmates went wild as he hoisted himself up onto the ledge.

Hundreds of feet below, he heard the European laugh in disbelief. Looking down, he saw him hug the tattooed man in celebration.

The blind doctor nodded while Bruce climbed to freedom.

* * *

_**Flashback continuation**_

_And so time passed. Miranda moved to a modest apartment near her new job in the Narrows. She did not want anyone to know where she was until her baby was born. She put her studies on hold and informed his father by letter that she would spend some time in Metropolis in some kind of internship. He did not like the idea until she said that it would be good for her career. Her father was not the loving kind – at least, not anymore – and they rarely spoke. But she thought it would be better inform him about her decision to interrupt her studies for some time, before he could find out by himself._

_Sometimes she and Rachel jostled each other, but Miranda started avoid everyone and everything. The fewer people who knew her, less she would need to give explanations about her life. Rachel seemed to understand the situation and avoided to keep in touch constantly. However, it was a painful situation. And while she kept saying to herself that she would be perfectly able to have the baby alone, some scary thoughts always emerged._

_Night after night, she lay down imagining Bruce's face and a deep anxiety filled her with sadness. Memories of their time together – particularly the last summer when they traveled to the Wayne Villa in Belize – flooded her mind._

_She had not even decided whether or not she would stay with the baby, since she was not sure she could ensure its safety and happiness. It was hard to suppress a knowledge that threatened to destroy her by self-displeasure, but give it for adoption was a possibility increasingly concrete._

_In the end, the easiest option would be to do nothing and wait to make any decisions. Just leave the baby growing inside her as she was filled with that sense of comforting well-being. It was like if she had been chosen for an important mission, and Miranda devoted herself body and soul. She read every book about pregnancy that had in the neighborhood's little shop, maintained a healthy diet, and started swim before her exhaustive work routine. It was like living in a private bubble, and nothing from the outside world were able to affect it._

_One day she looked at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall and observed the date. The time had passed so quickly that it was like someone had entered there and had torn the sheets without her noticing._

* * *

_**Outside the Pit, unknown place out of Gotham City**_

The morning sun beat down on Bruce as he climbed the last few feet to freedom. He peered warily over the edge of the pit and was greeted by a vast, desolate landscape. No guards were stationed at the mouth of the pit – it would have been considered a waste of manpower. With any luck, Bane wouldn't even hear that he had escaped.

A huge, forgotten stone fortress, its imposing walls and towers showing the ravages of time, loomed over the pit. Rocky hills beckoned in the distance. An arid desert stretched for miles in every direction.

He had a long hike before him.

But first he found a thick coil of rope that was attached to the base of an ancient stone wall. It was used to lower new prisoners – and the occasional supplies – into the pit, then drawn up afterwards. He unwound the rope and tossed its free end down into the hole.

_Free yourselves_, he thought. _I need to get moving._

He shouldered his pack and started walking.

* * *

_**Flashback continuation**_

_Miranda felt the first cramps shortly after arriving home from work, but chose to ignore the pain that cut her lower abdomen like a sharp razor. It was still too early. The baby was not expected until three weeks later. Her doctor had told her that she could begin to feel false contractions – called Braxton Hicks._

_Later, when she was just getting ready for go to bed, she felt a pain even more intense and winked. Almost immediately, the amniotic fluid began to trickle down her legs, and she got frightened. It was a spring night and Gotham was being wiped out by a torrential storm. The energy had already given signs that could be interrupted at any moment, and she had let a flashlight, candles and a lighter at handy, because she would not like to need to go to bathroom in the middle of the night under total darkness. Lately she needed to go to the bathroom constantly since the baby was pressing her bladder all the time._

_With a muffled groan, she leaned against the edge of a dresser. The fear that struck her was worse than the acute twinge in her abdomen._

Is the baby coming? _she thought, as pale as the wall behind her. _But it's too soon!

_Suddenly, she felt too young and too scared._

_She thought of calling an ambulance, but having a baby should be the most natural and ancient thing in the world, she tried to reassure herself. It was just a little scary when doing it on her own. She would wait if contractions would become more regular and in a shorter time interval and would call a cab to drive her to the hospital._

_She staggered a little and held on the nearest chair. Then sat down in it and rubbed her belly. The pain persisted, it was coming and going from time to time._

_With each passing hour – she was already in her bed – the pains were getting worse, which eventually hampered her breathing. Then she noticed that the pictures on the wall were blurry and the weak candlelight, diffuse. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the pillows on the bed. That made her feel better._

_Electric energy was gone and the phone lines were down. Even the emergency service was offline. That seemed like a nightmare. She swore loudly and wished that Bruce Wayne was there so she could rip his head off._

_"It's all his fault," she thought aloud. When the pain began to subside and finally ceased, Miranda realized how irrational she was being._

_Finally she managed to contact the emergency service and pleaded, sobbing, that they must come to help her._

_A new and longer contraction occurred, she moaned loudly again and sweat trickled down her forehead. Her soft and dark hair was disheveled, her teeth were clenched and her pupils were enlarged. The cotton sheet was wrapped around her both wrists._

_When the pain intensified, she tried to relax as she had read in a book, but that one was too strong. She tried to breathe in small puffs, but it was useless. A cry of pain came from her throat and echoed through the apartment. The neighbors did not seem to mind, since that might be one more case of domestic violence, something pretty common in that neighborhood._

_Through a haze of agony she saw when two men with a mace entered the room, identified themselves and took her to the nearest hospital._

_Once there Miranda's eyes widened as she read a plate._

Accidents and emergencies. Perfect, _she thought. _The baby was an accident, and this is an emergency!

_Miranda was rushed to the maternity ward and then the chaos was installed. Or at least so it seemed. The doctor examined her and said there was no time for an epidural anesthesia. She was terrified. Maybe things would be easier if she had someone beside her._

_Almost two hours later the sun was showing up in the sky. Miranda was already completely exhausted, in a state of semi-consciousness and it seemed that nothing good could happen. Prompted by the nurses, she made a huge force, feeling in the process as if she was being torn in half by a piece of hot iron._

_"Bruce!" she screamed like a wounded animal begging for mercy, even knowing it was useless. That was when she managed to expel the baby's head from her womb and then, with a few more pushes, the rest of the small body came out._

_She did not remember a lot of things after that, just when they put the baby – who was stirring slightly and crying – in her arms. She was shaking so hard she could barely hold him, but she had seen that he was a boy with dark hair and blue eyes like her. They took the child from her arms so they could take care of her._

_Hushed voices were speaking over her head, but she was too dizzy to care about what was being said. She knew she was bleeding profusely and her blood pressure was also not good. She could feel. Even so, she was so relieved that the pain had disappeared that she did not understand what they meant._

_Apparently, it had taken several hours before the baby could born, several hours during which she had not got conscious of the fact she had been so close to death._

_Two days later, Miranda – already released from hospital – prepared her baby so he could stay warm and safe and left him in a basket at the St. Swithin's orphanage front door._

_She had been through alot in her life, but nothing could compare to that moment. There was no pain – not even physical – that could compare to what she was feeling at that moment. She loved that baby so much that she would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant that she should let other people take care of him._

_Next fall she returned to Princeton to complete her studies. But she was no longer the same woman. The nickname 'Ice Princess' now suited her perfectly, because instead of a heart she had an ice rock inside her chest._

_How could people think that nature had drawn the lines so pure and clear of that profile to break their harmony with the laughter of a poignant irony?_

_The expression full of disdain and a certain defiant air that accentuated her beauty – so correct and chiselled – hid the ferocity of a scorned woman, the fury of a lioness injured._

_If her beautiful semblant was shown constantly as a mask of a strong and determined woman, no one could see Miranda's true physiognomy, which kept out of sight a profound disappointment._

**_End of flashback_**


	36. Ch34Desolation

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Please __post a review - positive or negative - after_ reading.  


* * *

**XXXIV - Desolation**

_**Basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Many of the prisoners in the basement of the Stock Exchange were beyond solace. They wept or cursed or retreated into their own minds, hugging themselves as they rocked catatonically in the corners. The dungeon reeked of fear and desperation.

Philip Stryver – Daggett's functionary – were pacing impatiently, keeping apart from the other prisoners. His bespoke suit was rumpled and dirty. He needed a shave and shower – badly. His waxen features were drawn and haggard. His breath was sour.

Suddenly mercenaries came down into the chamber and pulled out him, who started yelling.

"I want to see Bane! There's been a mistake! Take me to Bane!"

They dragged him upstairs while a stunned audience kept watching in silence.

* * *

Moments later, Stryver was brought into some kind of kangaroo court anddragged before a jeering crowd.

"There's been a mistake! Where's Bane?!" he kept saying.

"There's been no mistake, ," the 'judge' said.

Stryver turned to look at the 'judge' and saw Dr. Jonathan Crane, former psychiatrist from Arkham Asylum.

"You are Philip Stryver, executive vice-president of Daggett Industries?" he asked and Stryver nodded cautiously.

"The same Philip Stryver who for years lived like a prince off the blood and sweat of people less powerful?" Crane continued

"Call Bane! I'm one of you!" the executive shouted out. He didn't like the way this was going.

Then he spotted a masked figure watching silently from the gallery. Bane showed no evidence of intending to intervene. Stryver's shoulders sagged in defeat as his last hope evaporated.

"Bane has no authority here. This is merely a sentencing hearing. The choice is yours, death or exile," Crane declared and waved his gavel airily.

Stryver looked around, terrified, as the crowd started to shout 'Death'.

"Exile," he said, choosing the lesser of two evils. Something told him it wouldn't be that easy, however.

"Sold!" Crane smashed his gavel against the podium. "To the man in the cold sweat."

Mercenaries yanked Stryver from the dock, actually protecting him from the maddened crowd. Then they led him, with other wealthy Gothamites, down to a frozen Gotham River.

A former Blackgate inmate undid his handcuffs and whispered:

"Follow the tick ice," he instructed. "Try to swim, you're dead in minutes."

Stryver looked at the man with dawning horror. He shuddered, and not just from the cold.

"Has anyone made it?"

The Blackgate inmate did not bother to respond and turned away.

Stryver was forced onto the ice. He shuffles forward, listening to the creaking. Suddenly, when he already was a hundred yards out, the river swallowed him.

* * *

_**Abandoned Office Building, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

The empty office building had become a command center. A map of the city was spread out atop a desk. The shutters were drawn to keep in the light – and keep out prying eyes.

Gordon examined the map, surrounded by a handful of officers who had managed to avoid being trapped underground. Many had been retirees, green cadets, inactive, or assigned to desk duty. The commissioner valued their grit and loyalty, but wished there were more of them.

Despite what had happened to the Special Forces men, everyone there kept their commitment to protecting the city and were hopeful that they could recover the nuke in time and, with Lucius Fox's expertise, prevent it to be detonated.

"How much time we still have?" Detective Allen asked.

"The bomb goes off in two days or so," Gordon said. "We've got about less than forty-eight hours to do something."

"To do what?" Allen pressed.

"We mark that truck, get a GPS on it," Gordon said. "Then we can start thinking about how to take it down." It wasn't much of a plan, he had to admit, but it was a start. If nothing else, it beat sitting around waiting for that damn bomb to go off.

There was a rap at the entrance. Everybody tensed up, and reached for their weapons, until a rookie peered through a peephole and gave the thumbs up. He unlocked the door and let the newcomers in. Damian entered the command center, followed by ten or so people. The majority was still very young – teenagers.

"I hear you're looking for men, commissioner," he said. "How about us?" he volunteered.

"Thank you, son. But there's no need of..." his voice trailed off as he saw the young faces staring at him. He remembered his own children.

"Please, sir. We've already proved that we are valuable," the young man insisted.

So he nodded. Lord knows he was in no position to be picky about his allies. He could use all the help he could get, especially where that nuke was concerned.

"Mr. Fox is waiting for your signal when the right time comes," Damian announced.

Since the bank incident, Fox was living in the Monarch Theater under Damian's protection and the two quickly formed a kind of friendship. Both were interested in engineering, computer and applied sciences and were considering even the possibility of a partnership in the future, if they could get out of that situation alive.

"Let's go," Gordon urged.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

_First we ID the truck_, Gordon reminded himself. _Then we figure out what to do next_.

He and Crispus Allen strolled down a snowy street as the others kept a safe distance. Nobody seemed to be watching them, but he kept his head down and his coat collar up.

Glancing around just to be safe, he discreetly slipped the other man the Geiger counter. Getting hold of the device had been a challenge in itself. He just hoped it paid off.

"Stay further up the block." He nodded at a pair of undercover cops loitering at a street corner up ahead. "They're gonna cross the street and try and slow the truck down. As it approaches, hit this button. If the needle hits two hundred, give me the signal and I mark the truck. Okay?"

Allen nodded and tucked the Geiger counter under his coat.

"Head's up," Damian's voice squawked from Gordon's radio. The teenager was playing lookout from atop a nearby building. The commissioner hoped he had good eyes.

"Copy that." He moved to take his position at the other end of the block, leaving Allen partway between him and the men on the corner.

Moments later, an ominous black truck rumbled into view, right on schedule. It honked its horn angrily, barely slowing down, as the two cops stepped out in front of the truck as if they were crossing the street.

Gordon held his breath as Allen covertly scanned the vehicle with the Geiger counter. Then he gave him a thumbs-up.

_Bingo_, he thought. _Now we just need to keep track of that truck._

He flung a magnetic GPS locator at the vehicle as it lumbered past him, throwing up a spray of wet snow. The locator flew through the air before sticking to the bottom of the truck, where, with any luck, it would go unobserved by Bane or his accomplices.

The truck disappeared around a corner, taking the bomb with it. Gordon regrouped with his two men at the corner. He removed a GPS tracking device from his pocket and checked to make sure they still had the locator's signal. A flashing red dot tracked the truck – and the bomb – along its route.

"Got it," he said with a touch of elation. _Mission accomplished_, he thought. They knew where the bomb was now. The tricky part was going to be getting it away from Bane and neutralizing it in time. Gordon wished he had a better idea of how exactly they were going to pull that off.

He was still worrying when they rounded the corner, and found themselves confronted by a squad of armed mercenaries. Dozens of Bane's soldiers emerged from doorways and alleys, training their weapons on Gordon and the others.

The cops didn't even have a chance to draw their side arms.

"Commissioner James Gordon," a gunman barked. "You're under arrest."

Gordon bristled.

"On whose authority?"

"The people of Gotham," the terrorist said smugly. He gestured to his men and they surrounded Gordon and the others, stripping them of their weapons, then leading them away toward the stock exchange.

The commissioner resisted the temptation to glance up at the rooftop where he knew Damian and his friends had to be watching. He hoped the lad would be smart enough to keep his head down and not try something stupid.

_Watch yourself, son, _he thought. _It might be all up to you now._

He hoped Foley and the others were luckier.

* * *

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

They were trapped again. Damian began to cogitate the possibility that there was a mole among them. He came to believe that his own mother might be involved, but she was imprisoned in the stock exchange during the second incident. Although the truck with the bomb had been targeted, the GPS with its location had been on Gordon's possession and he had no idea what to do now. His thoughts were interrupted by an startled Stephanie.

"Colin is nowhere to be found."

"What?" he asked, rising from his chair and starting to rummage through all the corners of the theater. He asked for Colin to everyone but no one seemed to have seen him. Moments later, everybody was looking for Colin. It should not be so hard to find a boy in a wheelchair.

Then, one of the boys called him and pointed to the TV screen, which was showing another public execution undertaken by Bane. Nearby boys gathered in front of the TV set and watched in horror as Bane put a disable boy to death by suspension by his neck in some kind of gallows. The boy was sobbing and frightened.

"You probably thought you were helping your friends when you snitched them," the masked man stated, "in exchange for saving their lives and yours."

Damian gasped. He saw Colin in the hands of the enemy. Ready to be killed.

"And that's what we do with traitors," Bane proclaimed triumphantly in front of the cameras after removing the scaffold and letting the boy to die in agony.

"Traitors of our revolution won't be accepted," he warned. "Innocence cannot be corrupted."

A general commotion filled the room. Many voices were shouting at the same time, people were crying and Damian stood in shock, not believing what his eyes were seeing. He looked at Stephanie who was sobbing convulsively.

He left the room and sought refuge away from the eyes of everyone. Colin was like a brother to him. None of that was fair.

_Why?_ he thought while was trying to control his own tears. A fierce rage took over him – a desire to kill Bane and his bunch of mercenaries.

_They killed Colin. They were going to pay._

On an impulse he got down to the basement without speaking or looking at anyone. Fox watched him in silence. Reaching the training room, he got his stealth suit and other equipments and started to get ready.

"DJ," a male voice called him but he didn't bother to answer and kept going what he was doing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the older man asked him, calmly but firmly.

"I'm going to kill him. Kill them all," he replied without stopping what he was doing.

"You can't be serious," Fox said, concerned.

"I'm freaking dead serious," Damian spat as he glanced back to Fox.

"Killing them won't bring your friend back."

"But justice will be done," he declared and glared at Fox before walking away toward the stairs. He didn't get far before Fox managed to grab his arm.

"Son, stop. You can't do this." The boy's behavior made Lucius remember someone that he used to know.

"Let me go," Damian yelled and turned around to show Fox a face full of hatred. "Do you expect me to let those bastards live after what they did?"

"No, son," the older man said in a comfort voice and Damian just looked at him with tears in his eyes. "But revenge won't spare you from the pain. If you do it right now you'll put everything to lose and your friend's life wouldn't have been worth. There are people counting on you."

A sob tore from Damian's throat. Fox held him in his arms, pitiful.

If things were not going to work out, it was not good to imagine how all that would end.

* * *

_**Bludhaven Port, Bludhaven, Town nearby Gotham City**_

After walking for a few days under the blazing sun – during the day – and the unforgiving cold – at night – of the desert, Bruce had managed to reach a roadway. He had no idea where he had been but he had kept going towards where the sun set – west. Finally he had got a ride in an old truck. He had not been able to fully understand his interlocutor, but had managed to make himself understood by the man.

Bruce had experience traveling around the world with no resources. Many years ago he had left Gotham without money or ID.

He had just needed to get to a port. Just like in the past, he had stowed away aboard a cargo ship in Tangier, Morocco. The trip to Bludhaven had lasted about nine days.

Now he was in a worthless drinking establishment around Bludhaven port, getting ready for his next step - entering a besieged Gotham City.

During all his long journey back to his hometown, the only thing he had in mind were people he knew and with whom he cared about. He knew that Alfred was safe somewhere outside Gotham, but Miranda, Lucius, Gordon, Damian and others were in the middle of a city near to be blown up.

_Damian._

When he had been aboard the ship an epiphany took him strongly fleeting images and snippets of memories giving way to something the teenager had said with great conviction.

"_It's a family jewel."_

He remembered Miranda's stunned face when she got back her necklace. Her hesitation, almost like she was hiding something.

An old memory stirred within him: a comment Alfred had made in the past about a visit she had made to Gotham, almost sixteen years ago. She had been very concerned – even sick – and had been in a frantic search for him.

On the boy's files – he had exhaustively studied – there was a statement that he had been adopted as a baby by the Blakes.

The impact of Damian's words hit Bruce as a sledgehammer. Could Damian be blood of his blood?

He had taken a deep breath and had forced himself to calm down, letting the detective inside him take over. His mind had been working on overdrive, trying to put the pieces together.

Since he had seen the whole jewel under Damian's possession, he had been taken for a nuisance regarding his relationship with Miranda. Ever since he had shown her the jewelry and had noticed her almost desperate reaction, he had grown suspicious. No wonder Miranda had been on thin ice with him. Looking at the dates it was possible to imagine that she was already pregnant when he had left. Either that, or she had engaged in a relationship with someone else as soon as he had gone.

After pondering Alfred's words, he had no more doubts. Their romance had produced serious consequences. He had impregnated her.

The boy's face was carved into his memory for all time. He did not know how he had not been able to notice the similarity of the boy's features with Miranda's and his own.

His son. A feeling like nothing he had ever experienced before seized hold of him. In that instant he realized that there was nothing in his life that he would not do for that kid, including tearing out his own heart and offering it to him on a plate. The sheer force of his love for him was like a tidal wave, a tsunami that swept everything else aside. He was his, of his family, of his blood, of his body.

He had a son he barely knew, who had inherited the name of another person and was growing as such. Miranda knew and did not tell him, but how could he blame her? She was the main victim in all this. She gave her innocence and her heart to him. She had been used, abandoned and hurt. All because of his obsession for avenger his parents murders.

He thought again of his own parents, and realised on another surge of emotion that there was nothing he would not do to give his son what he had had just for a brief time. And he would do anything for him, anything to protect him and save him from suffering.

He was anxious to get back to Gotham, to meet Miranda and Damian and learn more about the past. He was willing to make a commitment. He had given him life without knowing it, but now that he did know he would stop at nothing until he could father Damian and guide him as his sense of responsibility demanded that he should. He wanted to know better Damian and learn how to be a father to him.

While he was sitting at a table less conspicuous and all around more private – analyzing the chances and building a safe and effective strategy to infiltrate a city that was kept in lockdown by the United States military – he noticed that all those present turned their attention to the tv screen set on a wall on a side of the bar.

His heart sank to the pit of his stomach and bile rose to his throat as he witnessed scenes of barbarie. A boy was being hanged by Bane in front of the cameras. He could recognize him.

_Colin. _Colin Wilkes. Damian's friend.

Anger filled him. Bane's time was coming.


	37. Ch35A Howling Wilderness

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Please, don't forget to type a few words after you read this chapter. I really would appreciate it._

* * *

**XXXV - A Howling Wilderness**

_**Through Park Row District Streets, Gotham City**_

Damian was devastated by the last events. He had been consumed by his anger and grief. The world around him was falling apart and he did not know what to do.

Months ago, Bane's populist rhetoric had seemed enticing enough to lure people like him – make the wealthy to lose their possessions and give to the people what is theirs by right. But at what cost?

Soon Bane's ideals had proved to be a great lie while he physically tortured and killed innocent people as a presage of what lay ahead – the complete destruction of the city.

Discovering that one of the most powerful and rich man of Gotham – and why not say of the entire world – was indeed the masked vigilante known as Batman made him realize that not all of Gotham's wealthy are ignorant of those in need.

Even knowing the danger of walking through the desert streets, Damian got out for some time alone. He needed that. Following Fox's advices, he tried to calm himself down.

Suddenly, from a safety distance, he saw a kid running like hell through Park Row streets. A thin gray windbreaker provided scant protection from the cold, but that appeared to be least of his worries right now. Two snarling gangbangers, twice the kid's age and size, chased after him.

For a second, it looked as if the kid might get away, but then he slipped on a patch of icy sidewalk and tumbled to the ground. The hoods caught up with him and yanked him to his feet. Spittle sprayed from one punk's lips.

"You steal from us, you little bastard?"

The punk had bad skin and an ugly expression. His buddy wore a blue ski cap and a perpetual sneer. Tearing open the kid's backpack, Bad Skin pulled out a shiny red apple. He drew back his fist to wallop his prisoner, but before he could deliver the beat-down, a hand grabbed onto his arm and twisted it backward.

Bone cracked and the apple flew from his fingers.

Damian snatched it out of the air.

"You guys know you can't come in my neighborhood without asking politely."

Releasing the bully, he shoved him onto the slushy sidewalk, where he whimpered and clutched his broken arm.

His buddy still hadn't gotten the message, though. Drawing a knife, he lunged at Damian like a rank amateur. The teenager easily grabbed his wrist, shoved his shoulder back with his other hand, and redirected his knife arm so that he stabbed himself in the backside. He yowled like a stuck pig as the blade sliced into his fat butt.

That was enough for both of them. Cutting their losses, the injured hoods turned tail and ran, slipping and sliding in their haste to get away from him. Damian savored the sight before turning to check on the kid, who regarded him with a wide-eyed mixture of fear and awe. From the looks of him, he couldn't have been more than ten years old. Eleven, tops.

"Never steal anything from someone you can't outrun, kid," he advised the younger boy.

He stared longingly at the apple.

"Now you're gonna take it," the younger boy said, resentment in his voice.

"No. It's yours. You've got it," he replied as he lobbed the apple back to the kid, who wasted no time absconding with it, just in case he changed his mind.

_A thank you would have been nice_, he thought, but he couldn't really blame the little guy for getting away while the getting was good. He knew what it was like to be hungry and on your own.

That boy reminded him of Colin. Colin was dead. They even could not try to retrieve his corpse and give to him an appropriate burial. His mother was imprisoned and his father...

"Looking for some trouble?"

It was a voice he had never expected to hear again. Spinning around, he found Bruce Wayne standing on the sidewalk behind him. The older man was dressed like a common laborer, with a scruffy beard and work clothes, but there was no mistaking the former prince of Gotham. His face was lean and weathered, but, much to the boy's surprise, he was standing straight and tall – despite what Bane had done to his back.

The sound of that awful 'crack' had haunted his dreams for months now.

"You came back," he said warily. "But how?"

"Long story," Bruce said smiling. "Maybe someday I'll told you the details. But now we have a work to do."

"We?" the young man asked astonished.

"Sure. Or are you expecting I'll be able to do it all by myself? I need help. Can I count on you?"

"Oh, Yeah! Definitely," Damian replied with confidence but there was no hint of excitement in his voice.

"I'm very sorry for Colin," Bruce spoke softly and Damian shook his head slightly in response. The older man noticed how hard the teenager was fighting against tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. He couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

He and Miranda's relationship had borne fruit. And the result was in front of him. That kid had his blood. And he didn't need a blood test to prove what he already knew in his heart. He devoted his life to prevent anyone else suffering what his parents had experienced on that fateful night or what he had suffered having to grow on his own. Right now, all he wanted to do was to be able to comfort that kid. His child. To wrap his arms around the boy's shoulders and say that everything was going to be okay.

Damian took a breath and finally could speak.

"No hard feelings, I suppose... Stealing your fingerprints and all..." He tried to give a new direction to their chat but the wavering in his voice could not be denied. A lump was rising in his throat, not letting up regardless of how hard he tried to swallow it back down.

"I admit I felt a little let down," Bruce admitted. "But I think there's more to you."

"Are you gonna get your powerful friend on the case?" Damian asked.

"I'm trying. But I need Lucius Fox. I need you to find out where they're holding him. Then take me in."

"You're so luck," Damian said, grinning, "because Mr. Fox is under my roof."

"Fox is with you in the theater?" Bruce asked not believing how easy it was.

"Yep," the young man sighed.

"Come. There's no time to waste. Tomorrow that bomb's going off and we have to do something," he urged and started to walk.

* * *

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

Monarch Theater was no longer a place filled with hope. Everyone there seemed to be completely shattered by the last events. No one even noticed – or seemed to care about – the stranger visitant. Led by Damian, Bruce finally found his old friend.

"Hello, Lucius," Bruce said, smirking at Fox. The older man gasped and turned to find Wayne in front of him, alive.

"You picked a hell of time to go on vacation, Mr. Wayne," Fox said.

_Not exactly my idea_, Bruce thought, but he didn't have time for pleasantries. "How long till the core ignites?"

"The bomb goes off in twenty hours or so," Fox said.

Just as Bane had planned all along, Bruce knew.

"Unless we can reconnect it to the reactor," he said.

"If you can get it there," Fox promised, "I'll find a way to plug it back in."

"And where is Miranda? Is she alright?" Bruce asked seriously, but without implying how much he was worried.

Fox and Damian exchanged glances.

"Mercenaries took her. And Gordon too. They are under his army's custody at Stock Exchange," the teenager told him, low-spirited.

"Can you get her out?" Fox asked.

_I wish I could_, Bruce thought. "Not tonight," he replied. He noticed when Damian sighed and bowed his head. _Could he already know about his true origins?_

"I'm sorry," he told them. The teenager nodded solemnly.

For now, he needed to focus on the bomb – and on Lucius. There would be time enough to sort things out between all of them, if and when Gotham survived.

"Tonight, Mr. Fox, I need you to get me back in the game," he told Fox.

"So, come on, gentlemen. We've a work to do and some asses to kick," Damian announced and led them to exit the room.

Before the older men could proceed, Fox grabbed Wayne's arm and whispered:

"It's safe to talk about you-know-who in front of Mr. Blake?

"Yeah. Don't worry. He knows everything," he informed.

* * *

_**Bat-Bunker, Some place in town, Gotham City**_

Bright fluorescent lights flickered on, exposing a stark rectangular chamber hidden deep beneath a shipping yard owned by Wayne Enterprises. The bunker had served as an auxiliary base of operations during the restorations to the mansion, several years back. A bank of computer monitors occupied one wall, while the rest of Batman's equipment was stored away in hidden compartments.

It had been kept intact for those times when it simply wasn't convenient to rush all the way back to the manor. That it remained so made it clear that Bane was unfamiliar with this particular storehouse.

Damian just watched everything in awe, amazed at every gadget available. For him it was a honor to be there.

Meanwhile, Bruce was considering his options.

"Any move I make against Bane or the bomb, the trigger man sets it off."

"They can't be using radio or cell," Fox theorized. "Too much interference. Infrared doesn't have the range. It could only be microburst long wave."

Bruce concurred with Fox's assessment.

"Could you block it?"

"Yes, but I need the EMP cannon guidance mount from the Bat." He gave Bruce a wry look. "You remember where you parked?"

Bruce nodded, smiling. He opened a concealed panel in the wall, exposing a well-stocked armory. He took out explosive mini-mines, Batarangs, the grapple gun, his utility belt – all his old tools and weapons.

He pressed a button and a wire mesh cage rose from the floor. Inside the cage were a familiar black suit, cowl, and cape. He smiled grimly.

Alfred had always encouraged him to buy in bulk. And he couldn't fault the logic. It never hurt to have a spare.

"Mr. Wayne?" Fox interjected. "I've saved some stuff from Applied Sciences that can be useful," then he motioned his head towards Damian.

The teenager was still not fully aware of what he was implying and glanced from one man to another.

So, Fox showed them a new version of the 'para-cape' – made of a version of the Nomex fire-resistant, triple-weave Kevlar-lined material.

"It is an excellent protection against damage, and is also insulated against electricity. Can be specifically tailored to the user's style of fighting in a short time," Lucius explained.

The other two exchanged glances, grinning.

"Perhaps it might be time for a little improvement in your suit," Bruce suggested.

Damian was speechless. That was like every kid's dream came true. He simply accepted the offer.

"Okay."

Suddenly he saw a long white stick. "What is that?" he asked as he was pointing to it.

"Oh, these are twin Eskrima sticks made from an unbreakable polymer," Fox said and got the stick, that turned out to be two when he dislodged the parts in the middle.

"You know how to use them?" Bruce asked the kid.

"I learn fast," Damian replied, raising his chin and getting the sticks from Fox's hands.

"I like your pupil, Mr. Wayne."

Damian just shrugged and Bruce smirked in response.

They had work to do and they need to be fast.

* * *

_**Basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

By the end of the afternoon, the word had spread and a lot of people knew the nuke was a device built by Wayne Enterprises and Miranda Tate – the actual CEO – was in fact the biggest investor of the project.

Commoners and wealthy ones gathered together, hungry for blood. They were eager to find someone to blame for their disgrace and they chose her.

A small mob stormed upon the basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange in search of Tate. They spotted her in a corner, where she appeared to be comforting a worried mother and children. So they run toward where she was and grabbed her aggressively by her arms, pulling her over the ground.

Caught off guard, she tried to resist and fight back but it was useless, her strength proved too weak against her aggressors.

_So this is it?_ she thought. _Is this the end?_

They led her out of the room and towards the kangaroo court saying that she must be judged at that moment. However there was already a trial taking place there.

* * *

_This is a travesty_, Gordon thought grimly. _A joke._

He and his men were on 'trial' before Jonathan Crane of all people. A mob of hoods, mercs, and escaped prisoners – many of whom Gordon was personally responsible for putting behind bars – crowded the former stock exchange, hooting and hollering at the disgusting spectacle. Bane himself watched from the upper gallery.

Gordon repressed a shudder at the sight of the masked madman who was close to destroying Gotham. The scars from his bullet wounds throbbed at the memory of his first encounter with Bane in the tunnels months ago.

_If only we had stopped him then…_

"The charges are espionage and attempted sabotage," Crane declared with an undisguised smirk. He was clearly enjoying this obscene role-reversal.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Gordon thought Crane belonged in straitjacket, not a judge's robes. He refused to play along.

"No lawyer, no witnesses? What sort of due process is this?"

"More than you gave Harvey's prisoners, commissioner. Your guilt is determined. This is merely a sentencing hearing." He peered down from the podium. "What's it to be – death or exile?"

By now, word of the sadistic ritual down at the docks had made its way across Gotham. As far as Gordon knew, nobody had ever made it across the frozen river before plunging beneath the ice. Bane and his people hadn't even bothered to dredge for the bodies.

Suddenly the hearing was interrupted by a crazed mob that was shouting and forcibly bringing a woman. Gordon recognised her as Miranda Tate – a Wayne Enterprises executive.

"Order in the court!" Crane shouted, slamming his mallet and bringing the room to silence. "We're in the middle of a trial here, please," he announced. "I'm sure whoever she is, she's gonna have what she deserves. Now let's keep it going."

Gordon turned to Crane.

"Crane, if you think we're going willingly out onto that ice, you've got another think coming."

The criminal psychiatrist waved away Gordon's insolence.

"Death, then?"

Gordon wasn't about to plead for his life. He spoke for his men, as well.

"Looks that way."

"Very well," Crane said, smiling. "Death…by exile." His gavel banged against the podium as the crowd cheered his verdict. Then Bane stepped forward and a hush fell over the 'courtroom'. He leaned toward one of his men and pointed toward Miranda.

"Bring her to me."


	38. Ch36The Beginning Of A Partnership

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This is not an original chapter, but it is necessary to place the narrative. All credits goes to Greg Cox with regards to most of the chapter.**  
**_

* * *

**XXXVI - The Beginning Of A Partnership **

_**Former Wayne Penthouse Skyscraper, Downtown, Gotham City**_

The stairwell was thick with dust and dimly lit. A flickering light bulb needed replacing. The top floor of the building had once housed Bruce Wayne's downtown penthouse apartment, but had been caught up in bankruptcy proceedings right before Bane took control of the city. From the looks of things, it had sat empty ever since.

_Assuming we don't run into any squatters_, Fox mused.

Bruce bounded up the stairs, while Fox huffed and puffed behind him. After sneaking around Gotham all day, he was definitely feeling his age, unlike Bruce, who looked as if he had been working out like an Olympic athlete. A fresh leg brace, recovered from the bunker, meant he didn't need to worry about his bum knee anymore, either.

They were alone now while Damian was preparing himself.

Lucius paused to catch his breath.

"I think it's time to talk about my year-end bonus…" he said. _Assuming any of us are still alive by the end of the year._

Bypassing the top-floor apartments, they went straight to the roof of the skyscraper. Bruce keyed in a combination code that granted them access. A freezing wind hit them as they stepped out. The sun was setting to the west, lending the frozen river a lurid incarnadine sheen. Fox gazed soberly at the fallen bridges, and the mainland beyond. He wondered if he would ever set foot off the island again.

_It's been a good life_, he thought. _All in all._

But he wasn't ready for it to end yet.

A frosted white tarp was draped over a large object parked inconspicuously on the helipad. A no-fly zone was in force above Gotham, as part of the terrorists' demands. All aircraft, private and otherwise, had been grounded.

Until now.

Bruce grabbed the edge of the tarp, shook loose the snow, and yanked it away, revealing the Bat, just as Fox remembered it. The formidable aircraft looked none the worse for wear since its maiden flight. He couldn't wait to see it take to the night sky once again.

But first he needed to 'borrow' that EMP cannon.

Doing his best to ignore the cold, he hurried forward and started taking apart the forward gun mount. The sleek black metal was freezing to the touch, but it couldn't be helped. Better a touch of frostbite, Fox reasoned, than death by atomic blast.

"Nothing like a little air superiority, isn't it? She fly pretty well?" he asked.

Bruce nodded, coming over to assist him. Freshly shaved, he looked much more like his old self.

"Even without the autopilot."

"Autopilot?" Fox gave Bruce a puzzled look. "That's what you're there for."

Bruce smiled cryptically.

He looked up to the sky and saw a hawk diving through the air, catching a bat. The last one of the day was taking the first of the night. He hoped it was not a omen.

May God help Gotham if something went wrong.

* * *

_**Gotham River shore, Gotham City**_

Darkness shrouded the frozen surface of the river, making it all-but-invisible. Pitch-black shadows lurked beneath the decapitated pylons of the bridge. Empty skyscrapers loomed on the other shore, long since evacuated by the US Armed Forces that were surrounding the island.

Standing at the Gotham edge of the river with his men, Gordon tried to calculate the distance across. Half a mile? Three-quarters? How wide was the Gotham River anyway?

_Too wide, probably._

"Get going," a mercenary snarled. He fired his gun into the air for emphasis. At least a half-dozen mercs and escaped prisoners clustered on the docks and riverfront, waiting to see how far the prisoners got. Somebody tried to get a wager going, but nobody was willing to bet on the cops.

The only question was who fell through the ice first.

The heavy betting was on Gordon.

_Might as well get this over with_, he thought.

Giving his men an encouraging look, he led them out onto the ice, which creaked and groaned alarmingly beneath their feet.

They made their way cautiously across the ice, fanning out to avoid placing too much weight on any one section. For the first time, Gordon was thankful for the weight he'd lost during his hospital stay and the lean times afterwards. A few extra pounds might be the difference between life and death.

_If we have any chance at all._

When they were less than a hundred feet from their starting point, a peculiar odor caught Gordon's attention. He stopped and sniffed the air.

Was that… gasoline?

Glancing down, he spotted a pool of liquid atop the ice, reflected in the ambient light from the night sky. An emergency flare lay beside the puddle. Puzzled, he bent to pick it up.

"Light it up," a raspy voice growled in his ear.

Hope sparked inside Gordon, brighter than any flare. He knew that voice. It was the same one that had spoken to him in his hospital room, months ago, the voice that had first asked him to help clean up Gotham all those years ago.

_He's back_, Gordon realized, overcome with relief. _Finally._

As requested, he lit the flare by twisting off its cap and scratching the ignition button. A brilliant red flame shot from the business end and, trusting Batman with his life, Gordon thrust it into the puddle of gasoline.

The pool burst into flame, and a trail of fire raced across the ice until it reached one of the darkened buildings on the far side of the river. The bright orange flames spread up and across the face of the building, forming the silhouette of an enormous, flaming bat.

Gordon's heart surged at the sight. Now everybody in Gotham would know the truth: The Dark Knight had risen.

People from every corner of the city were staring at the sight of the flaming sign in wonder.

Maybe there was still hope after all.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Bane strode the streets of Gotham, heading back from the courtroom to his headquarters in City Hall. This was the last time he ever expected to walk this route. Everything was in readiness.

After so many months, the culmination of his plans was less than a day away. Soon Gotham would see its last dawn – and the legacy of Rā's al Ghul would be fulfilled at last. He hoped that Wayne was enjoying the show.

"Sir?"

Barsad – his right hand – approached from behind. Bane detected nervousness in the mercenary's tone. He turned to see what the matter was, and beheld the sign of the Bat burning brightly on the other side of the river.

"You think it's really him?" the lieutenant asked.

Bane's mask concealed his surprise. He had broken the Batman, and left him in the pit to languish in despair. There was no way Wayne could have arisen from that hell.

"Impossible…"

* * *

_**Gotham River shore, Gotham City**_

Distracted by the blazing sign, the guards at the river's edge were easy prey. Batman quickly neutralized them – using a tranquilizer dart launcher – before they even realized what was happening.

Gordon and his men gratefully fled the melting ice, returning to the shore, which by that time was littered with unconscious mercs and hoodlums. Batman stood among them, his cape flapping in the wind. Gordon had never been so glad to see someone in his entire life.

The Dark Knight handed Gordon a compact metal box.

"This blocks the remote detonator signal to the bomb," Batman said. "Get it onto the truck by sunrise. They might hit the button when it starts."

Gordon didn't bother asking how Batman knew about the truck. He accepted the box gratefully.

"When what starts?"

Batman growled his answer.

"War."

"So, welcome back," Gordon spoke.

"It's still a little premature. I'm not gonna be back until we really have retaken Gotham. And this battle is starting right now," he paused for a moment then added: "Did you saw Miranda Tate?"

"Bane took her. He's holed up at City Hall, surrounded by his army," Gordon informed.

Batman nodded and left.

* * *

_**Outflow pipe, Ackerman Park, Gotham City**_

The fiery bat could even be seen from the outskirts of Ackerman Park, where a large concrete outflow pipe drained into a shallow stream. A pair of mercenaries was posted in front of the pipe, which was one of the few entrances to the underground that wasn't entirely sealed off. Ice coated the metal grate. Snow covered the ground.

The guards gasped at the sight of the bat-symbol. One of them stepped away from his post to get a better look. He marched toward an open clearing, out of view of his comrade, only to be waylaid by a dark figure that lunged out from behind a tree. A sharp blow dropped the guard to the ground with a minimum of fuss.

The attacker quietly dragged the unconscious merc into the shadows.

_One down_, DJ thought. _Let's hope his buddy didn't hear me._

He crept around quietly, sneaking up on the second guard, who was peering into the darkness, searching for his compatriot. The man called out uncertainly.

DJ jumped him from behind, slamming his head into the ground. The guard went limp, but the hooded teenager kicked the man's rifle away just to be safe. He checked to make sure the merc was really out cold. The last thing he needed was to get suckered by a terrorist who was playing possum.

Was that all of them? DJ glanced around, but didn't see any other guards. Moving quickly – before any unwanted company could show up – he rushed to the tunnel entrance and shot apart the lock on the grate, allowing it to swing open.

"Hey? Is there anybody there?" he asked anxiously.

"Right here," a cop answered, squeezing up through the pipe exactly as planned through the exchange of messages between Foley and the men trapped underground.

The cop emerged and DJ helped him to climb out of the pipe. But suddenly a shot rang out from the trees, and the cop staggered backwards, a crimson stain spreading across his chest. He fell lifelessly to the ground. His breath stopped misting.

"No!" DJ screamed inwardly, even as he dove for cover. _It's not fair! He was finally free…_

A small group of killers charged onto the scene, surrounding DJ. He tried to scramble away, only to feel the muzzle of an automatic rifle against the back of his skull. One mercenary kept DJ pinned to the ground while his comrades fired into the open mouth of the pipe, driving back the cops who were climbing out of the depths. Muzzles flared in the night. Screams echoed from deep within the tunnel.

The trapped cops fired back, trying to blast their way to freedom. Bullets ricocheted off the rubble clogging the pipe. The mercenaries triggered a detonator and a deafening explosion shook the rocky ground, burying the manhole beneath a heap of rubble, sealing it.

_Dammit! Think fast, think fast..._

The merc cocked his gun, preparing to execute him on the spot, when without warning the gunman went flying to one side.

A menacing apparition, cloaked in midnight and shadows, dropped into the midst of the terrorists, tossing them around like crash dummies. Batarangs winged through the air, disarming gunmen and spearing arms and shoulders. Batman fought like a demon. Arms were twisted, legs knocked out from beneath their owners, broken teeth sent flying. One after another, battered bodies hit the dirt.

DJ kept watching in awe, as Batman took them out in a fury of punches and kicks. DJ scrambled to his feet, hoping to join in the fight, but it was already over. Silence descended. Batman stood over his fallen enemies.

"Not fair. You haven't left any for me," DJ complained. At the same time, one of the mercenaries stirred slightly, groping for his gun.

"Be my guest," Batman growled.

DJ smirked and booted the stubborn mercenary in the head. Then Batman stalked toward DJ, his cape fluttering behind him. The pointed ears of his cowl cast an ominous shadow. Even knowing whose face lay beneath the cowl, the kid had to suppress a shudder. It was easy to forget that Batman was still human underneath.

Batman extracted a pair of mini-mines from his utility belt. Flashing green indicators signaled that the compact black spheres were armed. He lobbed one over to DJ, while keeping the other for himself. He turned to face the mountain of rubble sealing off the pipe.

"On three," he said, drawing his arm back to throw the mine. DJ did the same. "One, two, three!" Together, they hurled the mines at the rubble.

Twin explosions rocked the hillside, causing loose gravel to tumble into the icy stream, but when the smoke cleared the tunnel was still blocked.

The miniature mines had barely made a dent in the heap of shattered stone and concrete. DJ scowled in disappointment.

"No offense," he said, "but you got anything bigger in the belt?"

"That was to warn the men on the other side," Batman said. He gestured for DJ to stay put, before vanishing into the woods that surrounded the demolished pipe. The teenager found himself standing alone with the unconscious terrorists, and the body of the dead cop.

He scratched his head.

"But how do we...?"

_Barooom!_

Cannons belched flame as a large bat-winged aircraft dropped into view in front of the cave-in. DJ scrambled backward, getting further out of the way, as the flare of the explosions lit up the night, blowing away the tons of debris blocking the tunnel.

He ducked his head and put his hands over his ears.

Thunder shook the park.

"Okay," he said, mostly to himself.

Moments later, there was nothing left of the barrier. Dozens of cops emerged from the pipe, staggering out into the cold night air. They were all skinny and ragged, half-starved from their ordeal, but they looked fit enough to fight – and mad as hell.

They clutched their weapons eagerly.

"What now?" he asked grimly.

Batman appeared beside him without warning. But he was already getting used to.

"All-out assault on Bane," the Dark Knight said. He watched the liberated cops as they climbed up from the sewers, first by the dozens, then by the hundreds. There seemed to be no end to the tattered flood pouring out of the shadows and into the park. None of them appeared particularly interested in apprehending Batman. They knew who their true enemy was.

"Come on. We need to be elsewhere," the older man said.

They both knew the odds were against them. They still had to defeat Bane and his army, and keep the bomb from going off.

_At least now we have a fighting chance_, DJ thought.

They hurried back into the city aboard the bat-aircraft.


	39. Ch37The Dawn Is Coming

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This chapter mentions some facts showed in Batman Begins novelization. I also forget to say that chapter 18 (Prey) mentions some tidbits from TDK novelization - the part when Bruce talks to Alfred about his desire of settle down with Rachel. And don't forget, read and review, please.  
_

* * *

**XXXVII - The Dawn Is Coming**

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Gordon checked on the metal box one last time before tucking it under his coat. Dawn would be arriving soon, but the sky was still dark for now. He and his men lurked in shadowy doorways, staying as far from the streetlights as humanly possible. The last thing they wanted was to be picked up by Bane's men again. Especially now that they had a chance to save Gotham – and take the city back.

He watched the deserted street, keeping one eye on his tracking device. He nodded at his men.

The truck was coming.

* * *

_**Gotham City Hall, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

Miranda was was being held captive in a room on the upper floor of the City Hall. As the long night progressed she remained alert and taken by anxiety. After witnessing the flaming symbol of the bat she started to wonder if Batman was really back or that was a strategy undertaken by DJ and his allies.

When that angry mob came up at the stock exchange and violently grabbed her, she thought her end had come and she finally was paying the price for her actions. Although a part of her mind kept saying she got what she deserved, the rest of it had no desire that her life would end there. She wanted to recover the lost time and to be with her son again. To see his face one more time and tell him how much she loved him.

After various hardships she had endured throughout her life she was in hope for a fresh start with him, leaving all her pain, anger and resentment behind. She did not want to end up being a copy of her father.

Her father. The mere thought of him brought tears to her eyes and a burn to her throat.

Many years ago, when they had finally be reunited again, she had thought he was an angel sent from heaven to rescue her from that life of privations and oppression in which no one had really seemed to care about her. When he had appeared at the door of the boarding school and said who he was, she had believed that things finally could be as before. But soon she had proved to be wrong.

He had brought her to the League of Shadows monastery – at the Himalayas – where he had taught her hand to hand combat as well as the use of most conventional weapons, from swords to guns. She also had learned a large variety of disciplines with tutors from all around the world. Her hard exterior was no doubt attributed to the strict and disciplined nature of her upbringing through the League, but deep down she still was just a needy girl eager to be loved.

Although she had became a member of the League, Miranda had often shown to be not as convinced of his father's goals as he had been, which had ended up causing their estrangement. Her compassionate nature had made her father considering her to be inferior to be his successor and, since then, she just had helped him in the management of the financial aspects of the organization.

When Bruce had vanished, she had considered her options and had decided to leave the search for him aside, until fate had decided otherwise. Years later, she had received a letter from her father informing her about his new best student – Bruce Wayne – and summoning her from Switzerland to meet him at the monastery, which she had promptly refused.

Bruce never knew Miranda Tate and Henri Ducard were relatives, and that was how she had wanted things to remain. She pulled away from her mind the image of her father. Despite what had happened between them, he was her father and she had loved him with all heart. His death had left her heartbroken, devastated. Bane had taken advantage of that and had convinced her that they should join together and revenge his death.

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps in the hall.

"I was expecting some gratitude," Bane's voice drifted into the room.

Sadly there was very little gratitude in Miranda's expression.

"Should I be thankful you're trying to kill millions of innocent people?" she asked calmly.

"'Innocent' is a strong word to throw around Gotham," he replied.

"We can make a deal. What do you want most? Freedom? Freedom for you and your men in exchange for the detonator. A fresh start? I can get you it. I can get you out of here."

He pondered her words for a few seconds.

"The day I was forced to wear this mask was the beginning of the end. There's no place for a fresh start and there's no way out. Everything is gonna end when that bomb goes off," he assured her.

"You've already proved your point," she said with a hint of desperation in her voice. "People down there are eating each other. Gotham is self-destructing. There is no need to explode the bomb. Please give me the trigger," she added, pleading. "Things doesn't have to be this way."

"You're so naive. You, of all people, should know that fight against us is fighting against all that is right," he said, then turned his back to her and started to leave. Stopping for only a second, he addressed two very armed mercenaries. "Keep her close. He'll come for her."

"W-Wait! Let me go, please!" she shouted and went after him, but was stopped by his men. "I'm not gonna die here!"

"If the lady tries to escape, you know what to do," he advised his henchmen without turning his back. His order was quite simple. The two men nodded in return.

Miranda turned into the room, huffing with rage.

* * *

_**At an alley of the town, Gotham City**_

A rusty metal dumpster, its paint peeling, stood in a murky alley. Fresh snow covered its lid. Dented trash cans, piled nearby, were overflowing with refuse. Garbage collection had been non-existent during the occupation. Rats scurried amidst the trash, emboldened by the chaos in the city.

The place smelled like a toilet. DJ wrinkled his nose. He was unimpressed – until Batman undid a latch and opened one side of the container, which hit the ground like a ramp. A thick layer of snow muffled the sound.

Hidden inside the rusty metal shell was the coolest-looking motorcycle in the world: the Bat-Pod.

The kid's eyes lit up. Since Batman had come back he was having access to a variety of the nicest tech-toys he could ever imagine. His suit was enhanced with a dark 'para-cape' – which granted him a gliding capability – with a black hood attached to it. The hidden blades were retired. They didn't match with the 'no kill' rule.

"Oh, you shouldn't have…" Without waiting for an invitation, he hopped onto the cycle. He stretched out atop it, feeling its sleek contours beneath his. Eager hands explored the controls.

"The midtown tunnel is blocked by debris," Batman said gruffly. "But the cannons give you enough firepower to make a path for people."

The kid marveled at all the firepower it placed at his command. Machine guns, missile launchers, grappling hooks and cables – what more could a boy want?

"To start it, you..." Before Batman could finish, DJ hit the throttle, firing up the engines inside the wheels. The Bat-Pod growled beneath him. He liked the feeling.

"I got it," the teenager said.

He took his word for it.

"Then you need to get the people you care about across the Gotham Bridge."

DJ wanted to fight, not herd civilians.

"Why?" he asked.

"In case we fail," Batman said, speaking the unthinkable. "Lead an exodus across the bridge. Save as many lives as you can."

He understood the reasoning, but he didn't like it.

"Don't you need me in the battle field?"

Batman was a little startled by the question. His dark eyes studied DJ from behind his mask. His son. It felt so right to think of him as his son. He wished he had meet Damian when the boy was younger, when his life had begun. He wished he could have more time to know him.

"No. You have to go away and help as much people as you can..." but DJ cut him off again.

"But those hirelings killed Colin with no mercy and they're keeping my mo..." he stopped himself in time and then continued to speak in an exasperated tone, with a defiant look, "Miss Tate captive. Can you not understand that?"

Batman noticed DJ had been on the point of calling Miranda as his mother and he was concerned about her. _So he knows about her. And about me?_ He stared at the stubborn teen.

"More than you ever will... Stick to your task, let me do the rest," he ordered steadily. "No buts. You're going to do exactly what I said."

"And why is that?" DJ protested impatiently.

"Because you're my son," he spat, letting out a defeated sigh. "I won't have you taking that risk," he added, serene. He looked at the wide-eyed boy, who glanced at him with curiosity. He could easily guess the not formulated questions, but did not wish to be obliged to answer any of them.

"How do you...? DJ asked hesitantly.

"The jewelry. From there, I deduced the rest," Batman told him dryly. He did not want to extend that conversation right now. If they were able to survive, there would be plenty of time to talk.

_Put two and two together and make a million_, DJ thought.

He seemed finally to understand the urgency of the situation and Batman – his father – was just trying to protect him.

"Now go," the masked man said. "We've got just about a hour to save this city."

Giving up on DJ at last, he turned and vanished into the night. The young man gazed after him for a moment, then settled back down onto the Bat-Pod.

His shoulders nestled into the steering shields. He gunned the engines.

The Bat-Pod sped out of the alley and onto the city streets and he raced across town. The icy wind rushing past his face, and the speed and power with which the cycle handled, did little to soothe his turbulent thoughts.

Zooming through the icy avenues at breakneck speed, he reached the midtown tunnel in no time at all. Dozens of junked cars, including taxis, ambulances, and police cruisers, were piled in the entrance, blocking his way. The cars were heaped on top of one another, at least four layers high and who knew how deep. The barricade looked like an auto junkyard.

No way was anyone getting past it, unless…

Where exactly were those cannons again?


	40. Ch38The Finest Hour

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This story is getting closer to its end. So stay tunned, I'll be trying to post a new chapter each day from now._

* * *

**XXXVIII - The Finest Hour**

_**Downtown Streets near City Hall, Gotham City**_

Dawn rose on Gotham City. A heavy snow fell from the sky as an army of cops, over a thousand strong, marched on City Hall, ready to take back their city or die trying. They stomped through the snow, past abandoned store windows and newsstands. SWAT teams in black helmets and combat armor marched shoulder to shoulder with beat cops and detectives. They weren't trapped or hiding any longer.

They wanted Bane to know they were coming.

But the mercenary had his own army. Hundreds of armed men poured out of City Hall and the surrounding buildings, forming an opposing line. They brandished their weapons and taunted the approaching cops. The clamor and echoes of thousands of angry shouts drowned out the howling wind. Shots were fired in the air. Bane had claimed City Hall as his headquarters. His army wasn't going to surrender it without a fight.

A cop wearing full dress blues stepped forward compared to other cops. It was Foley. The burning bat symbol sparked a fire inside him. He held his head up, feeling like a cop for the first time in months.

The armies faced off on Grand Street. Their numbers appeared evenly matched – until all three Tumblers pulled onto Grand in front of the cops.

They turned their gun turrets toward the advancing blue army. A loudspeaker blared at the police:

"DISPERSE. DISPERSE OR BE FIRED UPON."

Rows of cops regarded the tumblers apprehensively. Faces that hadn't felt the touch of sunlight for months went paler still. Foley realized they were seriously outgunned, but he did not back down. Still marching, glancing back at his troops, he saw that they were scared but determined.

Brave men and women, veterans and rookies, held their ground. There would be no retreat, no matter what.

He had never been so proud to wear the uniform.

"There's only one police in this city," he called out, and he kept on going.

A great blue tide surged after him.

* * *

Bane emerged from City Hall. He watched the police approach from the atop the building's wide stone steps. He breathed deeply, inhaling the gas that kept his endless pain at bay.

It seemed that the city's defenders were not going to let Gotham perish without one last, futile attempt at resistance.

_So be it_, he thought. Then he gave the order. "Open fire."

His order was communicated to the Tumblers, which unleashed their cannons on the blue army, throwing screaming men into the the air

The line of cops was about to scatter when, out of the sky, the Bat came swooping over the street. Its own cannons targeted the Tumblers, blasting away at them. The armored vehicles flipped over onto their sides, smashing down on the sidewalks. Smoke and flames rose from the mangled metal. Their wheels spun uselessly in the air.

Bane frowned behind his mask. This was not part of his plan.

The Bat rose above the army of cops, providing air support and encouragement. Cheering, the police rallied and charged the enemy. Gunfire erupted as the armies opened fire on each other, while opposing lines rushed toward their inevitable collision – when they would be close enough to fight hand-to-hand.

Soon, Grand Street was filled with thousands of men in pitched battle. Both sides wanted to prove who really ran Gotham – once and for all.

No longer needed against the Tumblers, the Bat fell back and descended to the street behind the ranks of the cops. From his vantage point atop the steps, Bane glimpsed a caped figure emerging from the cockpit. In his black armor and nocturnal disguise, Batman looked distinctly out of place by day, especially against the fresh white snow. The Dark Knight had finally come into the light.

_No matter_, Bane thought. _I broke you once. I can do it again._

He strode down the steps toward his foe.

* * *

_**Streets landing to South Tunnel, Gotham City**_

Despite the distance, DJ heard the fighting. It sounded like an all-out war was being fought down by the City Hall, which was surely the case. And a certain caped vigilante was bound to be right in the middle of it.

Sitting astride the Bat-Pod, he fired its cannons at the wall of junked automobiles. The missiles blew apart the barricade, sending mangled cars and car parts flying. He ducked to avoid being tagged by shrapnel, even as billowing clouds of smoke and dust obscured his view. Flaming chunks of metal rained down on either side of the tunnel. Blowing snow added to the chaos.

He wiped the wet flakes away from his goggles.

But when the smoke cleared and dust settled, he saw that the mouth of the tunnel was open.

_First mission accomplished_, he thought. Now he just needed to go back and spread the word. The midtown south tunnel was unblocked. At least one safe passage. There was still the Gotham Bridge, but trying to cross it could cause some trouble, because the military were keeping it blocked and under intense surveillance.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Gordon heard the fighting, too. He silently wished good luck to his fellows in blue. They were going to need it. Now he had to do his part to make sure there would still be a Gotham after the fight.

He reached beneath his coat to make sure he still had the box. He was no techie, so he took it on faith that it would jam any signals sent to the bomb, just as Batman had said it would. This wasn't the first time Batman had trusted him with the right tool at the right time. Like that antidote to Crane's fear gas. That had worked as advertised, so Gordon assumed the jammer would, too – if he could just get it to the truck in time.

He glanced at his watch. By his calculations, they had less than forty minutes left.

He scanned the street impatiently.

"Come on, come on…"

* * *

_**Downtown Streets near City Hall, Gotham City**_

Bane waded through the battle, searching for his true enemy. Random bodies got in his way, and he brutally knocked them aside, using his fists, elbows, knees, and boots to clear a path through the overwhelming melee. Finesse wasn't an issue – he cared only about results, and removing any obstacles as quickly possible.

A uniformed officer, exchanging blows with an escaped murderer, had the misfortune to block Bane's path. The masked giant snapped the cop's neck with a single blow, then casually tossed him out of the way. He trampled over fallen bodies, both alive and otherwise. His eyes scanned the battlefield, looking for the only foe who mattered.

_Where is he?_ Bane thought impatiently. _Where is Batman?_

He spotted a swirling black figure moving toward him, cutting a swath through raging mercenaries and rebels. Battered bodies fell by the wayside, thrown about by an armored figure whose own fists and boots never stopped moving, striking out with ruthless speed and precision. Bane recognized the modified fighting techniques of the League of Shadows. It angered him to see Rā's al Ghul's lessons corrupted so.

_But that is why Wayne can never win,_ he thought grimly. _He lacks the will to do what is truly necessary._

Batman tossed a nameless hoodlum over his shoulder. He elbowed another attacker in the gut, while kicking a third opponent in the jaw with a steel-toed boot. A space cleared between him and Bane so that they came to face to face once again. They confronted each other across the blood-stained snow.

"You came back," Bane said. "To die with your city."

_No_, Batman replied only in thought. _I came back to stop you._

They just stared at each other and then start fighting.

Bane had intended for Wayne to watch helplessly from afar as Gotham met its doom, but it seemed Batman was destined to perish on the same day as his city – at the hands of Rā's al Ghul's true heir.

_Perhaps it is better this way, _Bane mused._  
_

Bane leaped at Batman, smashing powerful blows into his head. Batman ducked, weaving and smashed his fists into Bane's side.

Bane absorbed the blows stoically. He was no stranger to pain. His mask filled his lungs with anesthetic gas. It would take more than a few hits to keep him from his destiny.

They fought in the middle of the street, surrounded on all sides by the sprawling conflict. Bane found himself impressed by Batman's skill and stamina, especially considering all that Bane had already done to him. No ordinary foe could have escaped the pit – as Wayne must have done. He saw now what Rā's al Ghul had seen in this man so many years ago.

He parried Batman's attack, then drove the caped hero back with a rapid-fire series of kicks and punches. The Dark Knight retreated onto the steps, deflecting the mercenary's attacks with his gauntlets and armor. Bane's steel-toed boots and bare knuckles smacked against his opponent's body armor, aiming for the joints and weak spots.

He managed to get his hands around Batman's neck, trying to snap it, but Wayne broke his hold by clasping his own hands together and delivering an upward thrust that drove Bane's arms apart and away. Even so, Batman staggered backward – he was on the defensive now, losing ground.

Bane clenched his fists, tensed, and threw another kick.

It was only a matter of time.

He lifted his eyes to the building he had claimed. High above them, framed in a top-floor window at City Hall, a dark-haired woman gazed down on the battle with a concerned expression on her lovely face.

_Good_, Bane thought. _Let her watch the Dark Knight fall once more._

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Minutes dragged on endlessly until, finally, a large black truck rounded the corner. Gordon checked his GPS device to confirm that, yes, this was the same truck they had identified earlier. He stared at it with a mixture of awe and horror.

He signaled his men to put their plan into operation. All at once, a Greyhound bus, empty of passengers and commandeered from a downtown lot, pulled across the street. The truck smashed into the bus and stopped. The driver smacked into his windshield, cracking the glass. Gordon hoped he was down for the count.

"Now!" he shouted.

He and his men burst from hiding, swarming the truck. A handful of guards, still dazed from the crash, stumbled from the cabin, trying to put up a fight, but some quality GCPD sharpshooting put them down in a hurry.

Gordon shot the lock off the rear door. He yanked it open and – gun in hand – rushed into the trailer. A harsh white glow lit the interior of it. The sudden heat came as a shock after the frigid cold outside. Gordon swallowed hard as he spotted the source of both the light and heat. The core. He recognized the large metal sphere from TV footage of Bane's grisly invasion at the football stadium, but he didn't remember it glowing this brightly before. Whatever chain reaction was going on inside the device, it was obviously ramping up in a big way.

Perspiration drenched his face. The glow was bright enough to hurt his eyes. A digital timer was attached to the bomb. They had just few minutes until the bomb could go off.

He clung the jammer to the bomb. A blinking light from the jamming device Batman had given him rewarded his efforts. For all he knew, it was the only thing stopping Bane from triggering the bomb.

He sighed with relief and promised at least a few more minutes of life for the city he had sworn to protect. Not for the first time, he thanked God for Batman and the amazing tools at his disposal.

"We've got it," he said and turned to his men, smiling.

Maybe Gotham still had a chance after all.


	41. Ch39The Enemy Of My Enemy

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This chapter is gonna show Miranda/Talia in action. It's a shame that the film didn't show her kicking some asses. There will be some little bad language, so be warned. Finally, sorry for my very poor French (__I'm open to corrections_ on this).**  
**

* * *

**XXXIX - The Enemy Of My Enemy**

_**Wayne Enterprises Recycling Plant, Gotham City**_

Fox hurried into the reactor and started throwing switches – firing up it. Alone in the hidden plant beneath the river, he activated the controls and checked to make certain everything was functioning properly, despite Dr. Pavel's tampering.

He had to make it ready to receive the core, should Batman recover it in time. With that thought he glanced anxiously at his watch. Every moment counted. They couldn't afford any last-minute glitches or delays.

* * *

_**City Hall, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

During some time, Miranda kept watching the battle down the street from the window of City Hall. She had been standing a little impatiently till the moment he saw Batman coming towards Bane. Then, her heart started to race uncontrollably.

_Ohmigod! He's back! He's really back!_

A single tear rolled down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. She glanced up in the direction of two very armed men who were keeping her captive. She just needed to bide her time and soon it came.

They seemed more nervous than her. The gaze of the younger of them pinned her, then turned to his partner.

"Tu penses pouvoir gérer ça tout seul?"(1)

The older mercenary nodded. His eyes narrowed deprecatingly towards Miranda.

"Ce n'est qu'une femme quelconque,"(2) he said.

"Bien. J'vais rejoindre les autres,"(3) the younger man said and departed, eager to fight. They thought she was not able to understand what they were speaking.

The older one gave his back on her and stood at the hall entrance. Suddenly, agile hands grabbed him from behind, putting him in a headlock. Grunting with effort, the mercenary shoved back, struggling to dislodge the hold on him.

"Vous avez raison. Je ne suis qu'une femme. Mais pas une femme ordinaire,"(4) she whispered into his ear.

He was strong and well trained but she succeeded to make him dizzy and gasping for air. Then she disarmed him by flipping the shotgun around in his hands and used it as a fulcrum to snap his forearm. She smashed him in the jaw with the stock and tossed the shotgun on the ground, without breaking step. After being defeated by her, the henchmen laid on the ground, unconscious.

_One down_, Miranda thought.

She kept in motion toward the ground floor.

On the staircase she found one more of them, catching him completely off guard. The mercenary even tried to reach for his pistol, but she reacted on pure instinct, deflecting his attempted and disarming him swiftly. The man tried to fight back but she punched his face and delivered a round house kick to the man's gut, knocking him too to the ground.

So she approached the prone body and pulled out a dagger that was kept in his boot.

_Something more subtle_, she mused to herself, collecting the dagger and the pistol.

* * *

_**Monarch Theater Neighborhood, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

The snow was easing up a bit, but the day was still cold and raw as DJ hustled his friends and other refugees out of the theater. Adults and young people assisted the children, all of whom were bundled up against the winter. A dilapidated yellow school bus idled at the curb.

Dressed in his new uniform, no one seemed to recognize him, but everyone followed his instructions, since he were supposed to be a Batman's ally.

DJ raised his voice in order to be heard over the anxious babble of the people.

"Knock on doors, spread the word," he said to his friends, gesturing down the deserted city street. "The bomb's going to blow! Get out by South Street Tunnel or over the bridge!" Gotham's citizens cowered behind closed doors, unaware that time was running out for all of them. At least the kids could spread the message to folks who lived nearby – if any would listen.

As far as he knew, those were the only ways out of the endangered city. DJ wished there was time to warn more people, but that wasn't an option. He would be lucky to save even these folks – unless Batman and Gordon got to the bomb in time.

"Do two blocks," he ordered the boys. "Then get back to the bus!"

The boys raced down the street and DJ headed toward the Bat-Pod, which was parked a few yards away.

Stephanie Brown's mother climbed into the bus and Stephanie herself was getting ready to do the same when she observed one more time the hooded lad. Then, she ran towards him.

"Hey," she shouted into the street.

DJ recognized her voice and turned his head.

"DJ?" she whispered as she came close to him. "Is that you?"

"Steph," he replied in a hushed tone, aware of those around them.

"Won't you come with us?" she asked.

"I have to go back to downtown. They should need me there," he answered dryly.

"I can't believe it! You could die there!" she stated, almost in despair.

"Everyone in this city might die if that bomb goes off," he said and started to hop on the Bat-Pod when she came even closer – until their faces were inches from each other – and put her arms around his neck, kissing him. The kiss was tenderly and with feeling. He kissed her back – wishing that this moment could be longer, that they had more time – and pulled himself away, smiling.

"Thank you," he said.

"You don't have to," she replied.

"I might not get a chance later."

She nodded and then he left.

* * *

_**City Hall, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

Meanwhile, Batman and Bane remained locked in combat on the steps of City Hall. Both men were intent on victory. One way or another, this would be their final contest.

Batman hoped that Miranda and Damian were fine. He needed to be fast in order to save her and the city. So he hurled rapid-fire punches and kicks at Bane, delivering them with every ounce of strength and skill he could muster.

_But I'm fighting for Gotham_, Batman thought. _I'm fighting for life._

That would have to be enough.

A blinding-fast volley of strikes drove Bane back. Batman lunged to press his advantage, only to have a camo-colored Tumbler roar between them, momentarily cutting him off. Snarling, Batman dodged around the armored vehicle and launched himself at Bane, who stood before City Hall's wide front doors, looking as though he owned the place.

_Not in my town,_ Batman thought. _Not any more._

He slammed into his foe, smashing him backward through the doors and into the building's elegant lobby. He landed on top as they crashed to the floor. Without letting up for a minute, he pounded Bane against the marble tiles, all the while remaining aware of his surroundings.

Batman spotted a small cadre of mercenaries standing a few yards away. They moved towards them, coming to Bane's aid. There were too many of them, all heavily armed.

"Stay back," Bane ordered. "He is mine."

Even so, one of them stepped forward.

"The truck's under attack," he whispered, pointing to a walkie-talkie.

Bane's mind was racing, he put the pieces together. He knew who had been tracking the trucks.

"Go. We must secure the bomb until it detonates," he said while pointed down the street to them, who immediately did what he told to do.

Gathering himself, he threw his opponent off and sprang to his feet. Closing in, he hammered away at Batman's head with his fists, as though determined to shatter the cowl once more. Given time, he might even have succeeded, but Batman went after Bane's own mask first. The blades on his forearm ripped across the breathing tubes that connected it to the tanks. The medicinal odor of the anesthetic spilled into the air.

The effect was immediate. Without the gas to keep his pain at bay, Bane bellowed in agony. He reached for the mask, but Batman dropped him to the floor, where the anguished terrorist thrashed violently, unable to defend himself against the excruciating torment. Batman clamped a hand around his throat, holding him down, while using his free hand to search Bane's vest and pockets.

"Give me the trigger!" Batman growled. He knew it had to be on Bane's person somewhere. "You'd never give it to an ordinary citizen.''

Bane stared up at him through pain-soaked eyes. His wild convulsions calmed as he seemed to surrender to the pain. He gasped through his broken mask.

"I broke you," he said. "How have you come back?"

Batman remembered the pit.

"You thought you were the only one who could learn the strength to escape?"

Bane looked at Batman. There was some curiosity behind his pain.

"But I never escaped," Bane rasped.

Batman blinked in surprise. He didn't understand.

"You're the mercenary. The only one who made the climb..." he began.

"No, he didn't," a familiar voice echoed through the spacious lobby. Batman flinched, then froze in shock and his eyes widened as he saw Miranda standing right in front of him, pointing a gun. "My father did."

"Miranda? What the hell..." he said in a low tone with evident disbelief in it.

"No, not Miranda. Talia." Her exotic accent colored her words. "Talia al Ghul, the daughter of the great Rã's al Ghul – or Henri Ducard, as he had introduced himself to you. He was my father. The real one. I was adopted by the Tates when I was five…" she paused and added: "When my family was destroyed."

Every word of her was hitting him like a stab.

_She was the daughter of Rã's? _Batman thought. An old memory came to his mind.

_**Flashback**_

Around a campfire, Ducard were explaining to Bruce how he had lost someone important in his life like Bruce.

_"I wasn't always here in the mountains. Once, I had a wife. My great love. She was taken from me. Like you, I was forced to learn there are those without decency who must be fought without hesitation, without pity."_

_**End of flashback**_

Talia glanced at Bane. Although he was clearly showing signs of breathing trouble, his eyes were shining with evident pleasure while he watched everything with mesmerized attention.

_Enjoy it while it last, your bastard_, she mused.

She kept pointing the pistol at Batman as she proceeded to speak.

"No wonder my father was a very dreaded man in the criminal underworld. He even had defied death. He," shaking her head, she motioned toward Bane, "was rescued by my father, who saw in him a successor, a heir. The League took him in. Trained him... until he dropped the ball and was excommunicated. Yet he wished to fulfill Rã's plan and avenge his murder. So did I," she said with a hit of poison in her voice.

Raw emotions took over Batman's body, the pain was brooding inside him. He had been made a fool of and she had been having fun with all his failures, savoring them at every minute.

"Have you been involved with this the whole time?" he growled, still having Bane by the throat.

"Never underestimate a hurt, heartbroken woman," she said with mocking humor in her voice. "I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me. You see, like you, I have a hunger for justice. The true justice. Which is about balance. I'm just returning the favor."

Would Miranda hate him? Wayne asked himself in thought. God knew she had every right to that feeling. But at point of doing what she had done? She had planned that investment on the reactor's project meticulously. She had plotted the whole thing so that she could launch a trap at him without him noticing.

"How can you be so cruel?" he asked in a low tone, but imperious.

"I've been taught by masters," she replied and shrugged. An old anger crept into her voice.

Batman sprang to his feet, feeling angry, shocked and a little bit confused about who was his true enemy. He knew the truth now. He knew who had truly beaten him – and why.

Bane scrambled out from beneath. Gasping through his mask, he chose that moment to intervene.

"Finally, you've been able to understand what is right," he spoke with pride.

"Yeah," she admitted, quickly turned and pointed the gun to Bane's right leg, shooting him. He fell on the ground, cursing and screaming in pain.

"And make millions of people pay for one man's mistake isn't right," she uttered the words with calm and resolution. "Now hand me the detonator, please."

"Your stupid slut," Bane said, pretty much spitting the words. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you? He don't give a damn to you and he never will. You bring shame to the League. You tarnish your father's memory. That's why he never trusted you to lead these men..." he paused, breathing hard.

Batman took a step toward him but Talia was faster and leaned in closer. In one swift movement, she pulled out a dagger and held it barely an inch from Bane's throat.

"And you're only a monster who could never be tamed. That's why my father excommunicated you. Now just answer the damn question," she said looking into his eyes.

Bane laughed, bitter.

"There was never a 'trigger'. That device – you two built together – will explode either way. There is no way to stop it. Prepare yourselves..." he paused and looked up at Batman. "The League's work is done."

Talia stared in fury at the masked man in front of her. In a fit of rage, she cut the whole remaining tubes from his mask. He gasped even more louder. Then, she stood up to her feet and turned to Batman.

"He was bluffing all the time," she stated, frustrated. She could read a begrudging gratitude mixed with some kind of disappointment that crossed his almost inexpressive face.

However, before he could say anything, Bane convened all his remaining strength, lunged forward from the ground – standing with surprising agility – and hurled himself at them.

In that split second of disorientation, he caught Talia completely off guard and quickly managed to get the dagger from her. She turned a little surprised to see him standing. But as Bane tried to jab the dagger into her body, Batman spun around – swift as a feline – and prevented the mercenary hurting her. However he could not avoid the dagger expertly penetrated a joint in his suit, slicing into his ribs.

The Dark Knight flinched and then froze. Just an instant's pressure and the blade would slice into a vital organ.

Talia pulled away from them as she tried catch her breath. She stared at Batman in horror.

_No-no-no! _she thought.

She shifted her gaze to Bane, still astonished to see what he had done. She tried to get closer but was blocked by Batman's words.

"Go. Find Gordon. Fox is waiting. Now," he ordered, his voice taunting.

Talia nodded, turned and moved out, leaving them behind. She understood what he meant and did not need further explanation. Despite everything, he still trusted her – though he had no choice.

Only the two men remained in the lobby.

* * *

**Translations:**

**(1) **_Do you think you can handle it all by yourself?_**  
**

**(2) **_She's just some random woman._**  
**

**(3) **_Right. I'm gonna join the others.**  
**_

**(4) **_You're right. I'm just a woman. But not an ordinary one.**  
**_


	42. Ch40Imagine The Fire

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. And a big thank you to Mavia, whose advices __allowed me to make the necessary fixes in the French dialogues from the previous chapter, which it has now been corrected. Again, __there will be some little bad language in this chapter, so be warned._ Finally, stay tuned and don't forget to post a review.

* * *

**XXXX - Imagine The Fire**

_**City Hall exterior staircase, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

Talia exited the lobby, stepping out into the cold. The ground beneath her was littered with bodies from both sides of the conflict. As she walked down the endless stairs – two steps at a time – she saw Gordon coming toward her.

"Commissionaire?" she was surprised to see him there.

"Miss Tate, isn't it?" he asked, a little bit helpless.

Talia nodded in return. "Did you got the truck?"

"Yeah," he replied. "My men are keeping it in safe. Where's Batman?"

"Inside. Taking care of Bane," she said, closing her eyes briefly as she tried to keep her composure. A sudden guilty took over her mind. Despite everything she had done, he saved her life. "Come on. We need to lead the truck to the reactor's chamber and try to reconnect the core."

Resolute, she walked toward a sole Tumbler that stood guarding the entrance of the City Hall, with Gordon alongside. One mercenary emerged aiming a shotgun to them, but before he could shoot she was faster and fired her pistol, shooting his head straight on. Then she turned to a surprised Gordon.

"Can you drive this thing, Commissionaire?"

"Oh, someday I'll get used to," he said, smirking.

They climbed into the Tumbler. Talia took a seat beside Gordon, who fired the engine.

Fighting still filled the streets, but that was merely a sideshow now. The only combat that mattered was the battle for the bomb.

Bane's men began shooting at them as he tried to deviate from all those people and clear a path through the tumult. Gordon saw many of his fellows laying lifeless on the street – Foley was one of them. A mix of sadness and rage filled him.

Suddenly, the radio on his belt squawked for a moment. Not moving from his position, he motioned his head toward the radio.

"Answer it," he said to her.

She grabbed the radio off his belt and pressed the button.

"Jim? Jim, we're under attack... The bomb... " Allen reported.

Talia had just enough time to ask: "What? Where?"

On the radio, the last words heard from Crispus Allen were, "Holy shi-!"

"Damn it" Gordon cursed.

"We need to find that truck. Fast. They should have prepared a convoy to secure the bomb," she inferred. As a some kind of member of the League of Shadows, she knew their modus operandi.

Quickly, he pulled out a GPS device from his pocket and handed to her.

"Here. The truck is marked," he informed. "If it's moving on the screen then the bomb is still within it."

"They're going to Fifth Street," she announced, after looking at the GPS display.

So they went there too.

* * *

_**City Hall, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

Bane bent over and grabbed Batman's chin, forcing him to look into the eyes before him. He twisted the knife and was rewarded by a grunt of pain. Blood trickled down the side of the Dark Knight's armor. He could not do any move to defend himself.

"You see, it's the slow knife…the knife that takes its time, the knife that waits years without forgetting, then slips between the bones. That's the knife..." Bane declared, his voice cold as ice, "...that cuts deepest."

Both men were reaching the end of their tether. Batman attempted to disarm him and thanks to a squawking static from Bane's walkie-talkie – that caught the mercenary's attention – he could dislodge himself from his grip.

Batman pulled away, trying to recover his composure as Bane listened to an urgent message.

"We managed to recover the truck," a voice over the radio reported.

"Great. Prepare a convoy. Protect the bomb and activate plan 'B'," Bane replied, out of breath and smiling at the same time.

The core was already well-guarded, but why take chances? He wasn't about to give Gordon, Talia or Fox an opportunity to pull off any last-minute feat of technical wizardry. The bomb was needed to fulfill its destiny.

Scowling, he stepped forward with difficulty and glanced at his watch. Time was on his side. As long as the core remained undisturbed, no power on Earth could stop it from detonating in just a matter of minutes.

Gotham's time was almost up.

Suddenly a groan escaped his damaged mask. What could be seen of his face was drawn with pain. No matter how stoic he strove to appear, he was suffering.

"Fox showed that whore how to operate the reactor core. Including the emergency flood..." Venom dripped from his voice as he glared at Batman. "With the proper encouragement, she told me everything."

The Dark Knight took a breath and got to his feet, staring at his enemy.

Without more strength, Bane snatched a shotgun from the floor and took aim at Batman.

"We still have fifteen minutes," Bane said as he knocked Batman to the floor with the butt of the shotgun, then cracked open the breech to make certain there was a round in both barrels.

"Though I want you feel the heat," he said as he snapped the action shut and leveled the weapon at Batman's face, "you'll have to imagine it. The fire of twelve million souls you failed."

Batman stared down the barrels of a gun, just as his parents had done decades ago. Bane's finger tightened on the trigger. An ear-splitting boom shook the building.

And Bane was blasted across the room. His smoking body slammed into a wall before sliding lifelessly to the floor. His wheezing breaths fell silent. . . forever.

Batman rose to his feet and turned toward DJ, who sat astride the Bat-Pod in the entrance to the lobby. Smoke rose from the bike's cannons.

"Thought I wouldn't come back, didn't you," he said. "Then you don't know me at all."

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises Recycling Plant, Gotham City**_

Fox hastily scanned the monitors and readouts. At first everything appeared in order, but then something unexpected caught his eye. He stared in shock at the flashing display, not quite believing what he was seeing.

_No_, he thought with dismay. _Not that_.

Alarms blared throughout the reactor plant. Indicator lights flashed red.

Lucius raced toward an emergency ladder, praying that there was still time to escape. He reached the foot of the ladder, only to hear the beginning of a thunderous rumble. The sound grew louder and louder behind him.

He turned, fearing the worst.

_Here it comes,_ he realized. The reactor's last-ditch shutdown procedure, functioning precisely as designed.

Icy water, flooding in from the river above, smashed through the plant, demolishing everything in its path. It poured in from all directions, tearing apart the main reactor unit and destroying any hope of stabilizing the missing core. Lucius winced at the sight, even as a churning wall of white water rushed toward him at heart-stopping speed. Looping his arm around one of the bottom rungs of the ladder, he braced himself for the impact.

_I don't understand_, he thought, still trying to make sense of it. _Nobody else had the shutdown code except Bruce… and Miranda._

The flood slammed into him like a battering ram.

* * *

_**Over Gotham Bridge, Gotham City**_

Uniformed cops guarded Gotham Bridge – as they had for months now. Armed sentries manned a barricade on the Gotham side, preventing any refugees from fleeing the city. Signs warned that anyone crossing the line would be shot.

The driver pulled the school bus up to the foot of the bridge anyway. Not wanting to provoke the troops, he parked it safely back from the barricade. Behind the bus, a line of vehicles was waiting for the moment to make the bridge crossing.

Barbed wire and roadblocks barred their way. A rifle-toting trooper, standing on the other side of the barbed wire, raised a bullhorn to his lips.

"Stay there!" the trooper shouted. "What are you doing?"

The driver got out from the bus and raised his arms in surrender.

"We're trying to get these people to safety," the bus driver declared.

"Safety?" The trooper stared at the man as if he had lost his mind. "You're going to get us all killed. Anyone crosses this bridge, they blow up the city!"

"It's going to blow anyway," the bus driver insisted. "We need this bridge open right now."

"No one leaves the island," the trooper repeated. "Orders."

"Please, we have women, children and elderly here," the driver pleaded. "No one is gonna cause you any warm. Just let us pass through on foot."

The trooper didn't budge.

"Haven't you heard the shooting?" he continued. "The Batman's battling it out with Bane...''

"The Batman's dead," the trooper said. "Look, sir, if you take one more step, we have to shoot you. Two more steps, we have to blow the bridge."

Feeling defeated, the bus driver returned to the bus interior safety. A mass honking in protest began as people started to get restless and apprehensive.

If only they could get this stupid trooper to listen!

* * *

_**City Hall, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

Batman and DJ had City Hall to themselves. Bane's smoldering corpse lay crumpled in a corner, but Batman knew that the greatest threat still remained.

_He shouldn't be here_, the Dark Knight thought. _He should be elsewhere, in safety_.

"I need you on the ground, me in the air," he said. "We have to get back the bomb from that convoy."

The kid nodded. There was no time for banter now, only action. He spun the Bat-Pod around and went racing down the front steps of City Hall.

Batman hurried after him.


	43. Ch41The Chase

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. __Please, read and review.  
_

* * *

**XXXXI - The Chase**

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Although it was heavily damaged, the truck containing the bomb could still go ahead escorted by two black trucks. Pulling out in convoy, they knocked down anything out of the way – cars, cops and convicts alike.

Gordon and Talia's Tumbler caught up with them on Fifth Street.

"We have to force them east to the entrance to the reactor," she said. "Do you know how to use these cannons?"

"Guess I do," Gordon replied. He tried to remember the time Batman entrusted him with the Tumbler to destroy the elevated tracks of the Gotham's train system.

So, Gordon managed to make their Tumbler's cannon fire against the escorting trucks, causing enough damage to take them away from the convoy. Flames, smoke and chunks of the vehicles erupted through the air

Talia let out a sigh of relief as they surrounded the truck that was carrying the bomb. Time was not on their side.

With that thought, she made a decision.

"Pace alongside the bomb truck," she requested to Gordon.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked, worried.

"I'll take control of this truck at any cost," she replied and opened the roof-access canopy, climbing out onto the angled hood of the Tumbler. A biting wind blew against her face, threatening to dislodge her, but she had braved fiercer storms in her time.

_This woman is bonkers_, he mused.

She gestured to Gordon, who pulled the Tumbler up alongside the cab of the truck, matching its speed. However, the truck driver – Barsad – noticed her intentions and nailed the gas, not allowing her to jump into the truck.

"Go," she ordered to Gordon.

_Come on, come on_, she thought.

Again, he speeded the Tumbler to front of the street, pulling it up alongside the truck. Talia rose cautiously to her feet atop the hood and gestured. Only a narrow gap separated the vehicles. The jump wasn't without risk, but without hesitation, she jumped.

Quickly and with all her strength, she hung up the the truck's passenger-side door window, just barely managing to keep herself safe. The impact was painful and she almost let out a cry of pain.

Barsad began maneuvering the truck from one side to the other, so that she would lost her balance. Talia cursed beneath her breath as she managed to hold herself sideways with one hand and the pistol with her other hand. Then she aimed the gun at the glass and fired, breaking the glass of the passenger's window with the bullet.

Talia closed her eyes as shattered glass flew back hitting her. Her hand reached for the knob's pin and the truck's passenger-side door swung open. She fired again and a second bullet hit Barsad's chest, causing him to swerve for a split second. Taking advantage of the moment, she got all her weight moving in a single fluid jump into the truck's cab.

"Yes!" Gordon cheered as he watched everything from inside the Tumbler.

The truck careened out of control when a fight for getting the wheel initiated. Talia grabbed Barsad's head and slammed it into the wheel. Blood sprayed from his nose. He leaned forward, unconscious.

Talia shoved the man's body aside and took hold of the wheel. She steered the truck back into the center of the lane. Gordon's Tumbler went ahead of her, opening and leading the way.

_Got it_, she thought and smiled. _Now I've gotta go to the entrance of the reactor. Take this to Grand..._

Suddenly she noticed something at the rear-view mirror. Two other camo Tumblers were approaching the truck. They came out of nowhere and their cannons were pointing out to the black truck.

_What the hell..._

Her heart raced as she realized what they were trying to do.

_God! They're gonna blow the truck with the bomb and everything else!_

She speeded the drive and reached an intersection in an attempt to avert her pursuers. The truck turned quickly to avoid the menacing, which kept still hunting her down.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she prayed for a miracle, and it was then that an unusual black aircraft appeared in the skies.

* * *

_**Wayne Enterprises Recycling Plant, Gotham City**_

Lucius's left arm felt like it was broken. He cradled it against his chest as he painfully dragged himself up the ladder, trying to keep his head above the rising tide. Choppy waves pounded against him. The frothing water felt cold as ice, and he shivered uncontrollably, every unwanted movement sending another jolt of pain through his fractured limb.

But he kept on climbing, one rung after another. Part of him wondered why he bothered; with the reactor destroyed, the core would inevitably explode. Even if he didn't drown, he was doomed to perish in a nuclear blast. If he was smart, he would just let the freezing water swallow him up.

_Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice_, he thought ironically.

Why keep on fighting?

_Because I'm not ready to die yet, he realized. And I've lived too long to give up now._

So he climbed another rung.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

The truck rolled through downtown with its deadly cargo tailed by two Tumblers. The Bat caught up with them first, swooping down from the wintry grey sky. They reached an intersection and the Bat swung in low, and darted back and forth above it, careful to avoid the Tumblers' cannons. DJ approached on the ground. A rolling battle ensued.

Seated in the cockpit, Batman worked the controls. He caught a sight of Miranda – or Talia – being in control of the truck, trying to direct it east toward the river in order to stabilize it so it would not explode. She probably did not know the reactor chamber was already flooded. If only he could tell her. His mind was racing before the only option to save the city. The ultimate sacrifice.

His side still burned where Bane had stabbed him, even as his heart stung at 'Miranda's' betrayal. But he could deal with that later. If there was a later.

Trying to make a right decision, Batman swung the Bat in low, thus creating a distraction and preventing at least one of the Tumblers' cannons turned its attention to the truck. The cannon of one Tumbler was targeting the truck whereas the other one's was targeting the Bat. Batman knew there were three different types of customized camouflage Tumbler, one with a swivelling turret gun, another with a guided missile launcher and a third with a gun. The second type was targeting him. This one fired a series of guided missiles that followed the Bat as it navigated between buildings, slowly taking out one missile at a time as it hit stationary objects as the Bat was making sharp maneuvers.

On the ground, the other Tumbler accelerated to get a better angle to shoot the truck. However, DJ joined the rolling battle at high speed, trying to intercept it. His arrival didn't go unnoticed as that Tumbler's gun turrets swung around onto him. He swerved to avoid heavy fire. But that Tumbler did not give up and went after the Bat-Pod, only to be blasted from behind. Batman guided one of the last missiles into that Tumbler, which crashed into the sidewalk, taking out a line of parked cars. Metal crumpled and tore. Burning fuel polluted the air.

They made a good team, Batman mused, but he wanted to take his son out from that situation as fast as possible. That was more important than anything.

Talia glanced at the rear-view mirror. Strapped into the truck's driver seat, she stared at the battle raging all around her. She had to assume that it was Bruce piloting the Bat, which meant that he had somehow escaped from Bane. When she spotted DJ riding the Bat-Pod she almost fainted. The last events were leaving her on the verge of a breakdown. In the midst of that mess she had no idea where Gordon was and feared that his Tumbler could be blasted too by friendly fire. She tried to focus and take a shortcut to the river again. Another intersection was coming up fast.

When Gordon realized Talia's truck was under attack and the Bat seemed to provide some kind of cover for it, he went back in time to see a hooded and masked guy in a black suit driving what appeared to be Batman's one-of-a-kind motorcycle.

Meanwhile, DJ veered past the damaged vehicle and targeted the rear of another Tumbler that came out of nowhere. But before he could fire the Bat-Pod cannons, that Tumbler stopped, the roof-access canopy opened and Gordon emerged from inside, shaking his arms in an attempt to signal that it was he who was in there.

DJ understood and dodged around. Hitting the gas, he closed in on the final Tumbler. The Bat followed him, swinging low, protecting the Bat-Pod and its precious driver.

The last Tumbler kept chasing the truck. It was the one with a guided missile launcher, however there was no munitions on its launcher and it was just intimidating the truck in order to prevent it could reach the reactor's chamber.

With time running out, there was no point in conserving his ammo, so DJ let loose with everything he had. Cannons blasted the Tumbler again and again.

_Nice work_, Batman thought for a split of second. But there was still the bomb – and precious little time. A digital chronometer in the Bat's cockpit counted down to Gotham's destruction.

Eight minutes.

At that same time, the Tumbler flipped diagonally into the path of the truck, causing the vehicle to lurch onto its side. Talia lost control of the truck and smashed it through some concrete barriers, zooming down into the cold river below. Time seemed to accelerate as the moment the big black vehicle hit the water, being left partially immersed in it. Ice cold water was filling the cab.

DJ accelerated toward the crash site.

The trailer swerved sharply as the truck was careening, but only the cab fell into Gotham River. The compartment with the nuke remained intact, suspended by a girder of the concrete barrier. The temperature inside the trailer was rising by the moment even as the core glowed brighter and brighter.

Miraculously, Talia remained conscious despite the violent impact, and adrenalin rushed through her veins as she tried to fight her way out. She was almost getting it when she saw a dark shadow approaching her. Quickly, the dark shadow grabbed her hand and rescued her.

Everything started to fade and she only had thoughts for the integrity of the bomb.

_Please, let us have more time, _she implored silently to the heavens.


	44. Ch42A Hero Can Be Anyone

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. __Again, __there will be some little bad language in this chapter, so be warned. Any thoughts? Please do __post a REVIEW_!  


* * *

**XXXXII - A Hero Can Be Anyone**

_**Over Gotham Bridge, Gotham City**_

In protest, some people began to leave their cars and marched toward the line limit imposed by the troops. A middle aged man stepped forward.

"Your orders are out of date! The situation's changed!" he cried out. "And I'm walking out there. Please don't shoot me."

The man started to walk. Shots rang out at his feet. He kept walking, ignoring the warning shots. Other citizens joined him.

"Sir, if you continue to walk we're gonna have to blow the bridge," the trooper warned, visibly nervous.

"You idiots!" the man bellowed. "You sons of bitches! You're killing us!"

The mob was very angry and started to shout at the troopers.

"Let us pass! Let us pass! Let us pass," they said over and over again.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

Gordon heard crashes and explosions from a distance.

_What the hell's going on over there?_

He managed to drive the Tumbler to the riverside. Reaching the crash site, he opened the Tumbler's roof-access canopy and jumped out of there. When he saw the truck partially immersed into Gotham River he swallowed hard and seemed frozen for a moment.

_Please, God, don't allow our efforts have been for nothing._

Just then, two figures emerged from the cold water – the hooded guy was pulling 'Miss Tate' out of the river. Soaking wet, they swam toward the verge of the river, crawling up onto the concrete protective barriers.

Gordon rushed to their aid. As he did, the Bat touched down on the expressway several yards away, its backdraft stirring up a cloud of dust and litter. The canopy opened and Batman emerged. He hurried toward them, his dark cloak flapping in the wind. It occurred to Gordon that he had never before seen Batman in the daylight.

_First time for everything, I guess,_ he mused. Then he turned and cried out, "Miss Tate!"

Talia suddenly sat up, gasping, her eyes fluttering open. DJ arms were around her, holding her to him. Even injured and filled with aches she was able to talk.

"I didn't want you to judge me badly. Everything I've done... I'm very sorry, my son," she said in a small voice. Her blue eyes were filled with sadness and remorse.

"I know," DJ replied, pressing her hands between his. Tears were stinging his eyes.

Batman joined them alongside the only half sunk truck. As he watched the scene that would be engraved in his memory forever – Talia's truck spinning off the street and flying into the water – he felt his heart thump uncontrollably in his chest. The feeling had even worsened when he realized DJ made his way to the river, immediately diving in.

Right now, Talia was laying upon the pavement, being supported by DJ. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth – the same mouth he had kissed so many times. He found it hard to reconcile those tender memories with the deceitful woman who was before his eyes.

"The day you were born was the happiest and saddest day of my life. I let you at that orphanage because I didn't want you to grow up and become a League's member. A monster, like Bane," she said and her eyes finally met Batman's eyes. "You're gonna be a good and strong man, just like your father."

Then she finally let the darkness engulf her and lost consciousness.

"Mom!" The anguished cry left out DJ's chest, shattering Bruce up inside as he watched her hands slowly losing their grip.

Miranda – no, Talia – had fooled him and few people had been able to do that. Bruce thought he knew her. He thought she was a great woman, someone he shared a deeply connection. When he had been with her, he thought about settle down, abandoning single life, build a family. She had tried to ruin him and yet – when compared with other women he had known in his life – she was always in first place. Sadly she got revenge mixed up with justice.

Damn, he was a fool and an idiot.

Because even having done what she had done, Bruce still admired her loyalty, courage and altruism. Talia had lost her father in that train accident years ago and put all her strength into a plan of revenge. Bruce understood that instinctively. He had almost been able to kill Joe Chill years ago. And there was still all the other things that had happened between them. He even recognized that he had acted like a scoundrel in the past. A pang of regret stabbed Batman's heart.

Suddenly father and son were startled by Gordon's voice.

"Let's get a cable on it and drag it out!" he shouted. "Come on, we're almost there...'' The Commissioner was pained with that situation, however, there were more urgent matters to be dealt.

The core was throwing off heat like a blast furnace. Gordon started toward it, hoping to haul it out of the trailer, but even the slightest touch showed that it was too hot to handle. He prayed that that it wasn't already too late.

Turning away from Talia and DJ, Batman located the hoist on the Bat, grabbed the cable, and moved toward the core. He could feel the scorching heat even through his suit, but his gloves protected his hands long enough to attach the line to the core. He tugged on it to make certain it was secure.

"Do you need any help taking this to the reactor's chamber?" Gordon asked while Batman was getting the core out of the trailer.

"The chamber is already flooded. Bane had a plan 'B'," Batman replied.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Gordon asked, worried. He knew the core couldn't be stabilized.

"Five minutes," Batman said. "I can fly it out over the bay."

DJ came close to them, looked over Batman's shoulder and nodded. He was looking partially recomposed.

"Rig it to fly over the water, then bail…" he began.

Batman shook his head.

"No autopilot."

Understanding dawned as he let go of the cable, then turned to face the teenager, whose look became shuttered.

For DJ, it was like time had stopped. Everything ceased to exist, all had lost importance, except Batman's eyes, fixed on his own. The silent message that his father was conveying was clear. And he knew, deep down, that Batman intended to keep his promise to protect that city and its people, even if it meant his own death.

"There has to be another way..." DJ said.

The older man stepped closer and put a hand over his shoulder.

"I'm very proud of you," Wayne stated, not in his Batman voice anymore. DJ was not the only one to feel the impact of that separation. They had just learned about the family ties that bound them and would be separated again.

With eyes filled with tears, DJ wrapped his arm around his neck. The kid was suffering. Bruce could feel and hated to see him so frail.

"You're gonna die," the boy said the obvious truth.

"Death is only a transition. Life is a circle. Maybe we'll meet again," Batman replied, wishing that this moment could be longer, that they had more time.

But time was the one thing they didn't have. He hurried toward the Bat. Gordon kept pace beside him.

"So this is the part where you vanish," Gordon said, "only this time you don't come back." It wasn't a question.

Batman opened the canopy.

Gordon placed a hand on Batman's arm.

"I never cared who you were...''

"And you were right," Batman said.

"But shouldn't the people know the hero who saved them?" the cop asked.

"A hero can be anyone," Batman replied, breathless. He had lost a lot of blood and was tired and in pain. "That was always the point." He got into the cockpit, and gripped the controls. "Anyone. A man doing something as simple and reassuring as putting a coat around a little boy's shoulder to let him know the world hadn't ended.…"

The canopy closed as Batman closed his eyes for a briefest moment.

Gordon stepped back as the Bat fired up. A distant memory surfaced from the past.

_**Flashback**_

_The boy sat alone at the police station, pale-faced and trembling. A botched hold-up in a filthy alley had just taken his parents from him._

_Jim Gordon, an ordinary uniformed cop, knelt to comfort him. He wrapped a rumpled overcoat around the small figure, wishing there was more he could do. The boy looked up at him. Gordon tried his best to be reassuring, even though he knew the boy's life would never be the same…_

_**End of flashback**_

Gordon stared in wonder at the cockpit, at the Dark Knight fighting one last time to save Gotham.

"Bruce Wayne?"

The downdraft dusted him and drove him back as the Bat rose. The cable – attached to the core – snapped taut, and Gordon dived out of the way as the white-hot mechanism was yanked from the back of the trailer and into the sky. It trailed behind the Bat like a captured sun.

Tilting his head back, Gordon watched anxiously as the Bat ascended with its volatile cargo. Swirling fumes issued from the core. The exotic aircraft struggled with the weight.

Then a towering skyscraper blocked its path. The Bat's engines roared, searching for the power to clear the building. Gordon imagined Batman in the cockpit, fighting the controls, trying to overcome the drag.

_It's too heavy_, Gordon realized. _He's not going to make it._

* * *

_**Over Gotham Bridge, Gotham City**_

Most people were loaded into their vehicles. Inside the school bus, frightened faces of all ages peered out the grimy windows.

A titanic explosion cut off the mob outburst. It sounded as if it came from downtown. Startled, the middle aged man glanced back at the city. He caught a glimpse of flames and smoke. Turning back toward the mob, he hollered at the people.

"Get down! That's it!"

"No." A small boy cried out, staring out an open window from the school bus. "That's Batman," he said.

The mob spun around to see the Bat thundering out of the heart of Gotham, coming in their direction, dragging a blazing star behind it. Smoke rose from a busted skyscraper that looked as if a missile had hit it. The middle aged man squinted at the radiant globe hanging from the aircraft. He knew what it had to be. He saw that same sphere from Bane's invasion at the football stadium.

But where was Batman taking it?

The Bat flew toward the river, growing nearer by the second. A Father crossed himself as the aircraft curved dangerously close to the demolished bridge before heading for the mouth of the river. . . and the bay.

And the ocean beyond. Moving at uncanny speed.

The Bat and its fiery cargo receded into the distance. Shielding their eyes against the glare, people watched as the core appeared to shrink to a tiny point of light – before bursting like an exploding star.

A hellish mushroom cloud blossomed on the horizon. Nuclear thunder could be heard from miles away. For just a second, winter turned into summer. Everyone hurled themselves to the ground moments before the shock wave rushed over Gotham, carrying a ferocious blast of wind, heat, dust, and ash that blew through the entire city, from Blackgate to City Hall. Even the stately walls of Wayne Manor were shaking.

They huddled on the ground, wondering if this was the end.

But then the blast subsided, and they was still there. Some of them lifted their eyes cautiously and saw the city still standing. If anything, it looked as if the blast had scoured away some of the grime that had accumulated over the years. Shouting in excitement could be heard over the entire bridge.

A grin broke out across the middle aged man's face.

_He did it_, he realized. _He saved us all._

Army helicopters appeared in the air, coming from the mainland, and boats began to appear on the river, now that the danger had passed. Now that Batman had sacrificed himself.


	45. Ch43Aftermath

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. I've always listen music while I write or try to create a new chapter, so I think this song {**http**(colon)(slash,slash)**tinyurl**.**com**(slash)**c6p2ta9**} fits perfect with this one. Again, read and review please!_

* * *

**XXXXIII - Aftermath**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Few days after the blast, Gotham was trying to set back on its axis again. A long path to rebuild the city still would need to be gone through. Meanwhile, the heroes who had perished in the fighting were being buried and honored.

The gardens were blooming on the Wayne estate. Gordon was reading solemnly from his copy of A Tale of Two Cities. Lucius Fox, his arm in a sling, stood beside him, along with Damian Blake, whose expression was grim. A fourth man stood off to one side, lost in his own grief.

Only the four men were standing there. The funeral of Gotham's favorite son has not attracted crowds.

Gordon closed the book. He gazed down at a simple grave, its marker bearing the name of Bruce Wayne. His throat tightened as he recited the final words.

No official cause of death had been released regarding the supposed to be the last of the Wayne dynasty. The tabloids had indulged in scandalous speculation, but nobody really paid much attention. Too many people had died during Bane's reign of terror for even the death of Bruce Wayne to stand out. Most people simply wanted to move on and put the myriad tragedies behind them.

But for some, this was easier said than done. Gordon looked across the empty grave to the melancholy figure who completed the funeral party. Tears streamed down Alfred's face. He looked older and more frail than Gordon remembered. He could only imagine what the man was feeling, now that he had outlived virtually the entire Wayne family.

Lucius placed a gentle hand on Alfred's shoulder before stepping away to give him some time alone at the grave. Gordon and Damian followed after Fox. Glancing backward in sympathy, Gordon saw the butler cross to the graves that lay next to Bruce's: the resting places of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

"I'm so sorry," Alfred sobbed. "I failed you. You trusted me, and I failed you." His drooping shoulders shook with sorrow.

Fox and Damian parted company with Gordon, and then made their way to the drive in front of the mansion. Fox turned toward the teenager.

"Can I change your mind about leaving the city?"

"It will be only for a while," Damian answered, "until she could recover herself_."_

"Does she already know about him?" Fox asked.

"No," the kid answered gravely. Then he gestured back toward the gardens and the grave. "It sucks, it seems no one's ever going to know who saved an entire city."

"They know," Fox said. "It was Batman."

Plans were already afoot to erect a granite statue of the Dark Knight in a plaza downtown. Gordon had started writing the speech he intended to deliver on the day the statue was unveiled. It was a better and more heartfelt speech than anything he had ever composed for Harvey Dent Day.

At last Gotham knew who its true hero was.

* * *

_**Gotham City General Hospital, Gotham City**_

Talia was trying to open her eyes, but a blinding light prevented her from doing so. She wanted to move but her body appeared to be of lead. She could hear distant voices and the clink of metals.

"Mom?" For DJ, it felt natural to call her 'mom' since the moment she had lost her senses after the crash.

She narrowed her eyes, the light hurt. Gradually she recognized the face that was leaning over hers. She had heard right? He had called her 'mom'?

"Damian..." she said in a small voice, her mouth was very dry.

"Oh, luckily you woke up."

She had been sleeping, perhaps for a long time. But why? She tried to sit and a sharp pain returned, forcing her to let herself down on the pillows.

"Stay still. Now everything is fine," he assured her.

_Fine? Nothing was fine._

"What happened, Damian? Where am I?" she asked, confused.

"At the hospital. Don't you remember?"

_The bomb. The truck. The cold river, _she tried to organize the facts inside her mind. Her lips were dry so she pointed to a glass of water that was on the bedside table.

"Could you?" she requested.

Damian promptly got up from his seat, took the glass of water and helped her drink a bit.

"Thank you," she thanked him, swallowing the water with willingness.

"If we're here it means that everything went right," she assumed.

Damian just stared at her with sad eyes then gave her a small nod. The past days she had been alternating consciousness with deep sleep moments. During one of her brief consciousness moments she managed to mumble a few words – still groggy – expressing her desire to return to her home in Switzerland. And he was willing to accompany her.

The funny thing about facing imminent death was that it really snapped everything else into perspective. He accepted that their relationship might never be what he had imagined and reconciling with his mother could be a long and difficult process for both parties, but he was ready to make a fresh start.

Although he was coping with feelings of obligation, resentment and regret, he took time out of his own emotions to think about his mother's point of view. Thinking about everything she had endured – and why she had made the choices she had – helped him to understand her better.

"What are you not telling me?" she asked anxiously.

He knew he was not able to tell her what really happened. Despite all that had transpired between his biological parents, he suspected that his mother still harbored strong feelings for his father. He handed her an old newspaper, which had been laying upon the bedside table.

Shock crossed her features as she read the headline.

**CITY MOURNS DEATH OF ITS HERO**.

_No, please! No_, she cried in thought, feeling the pain of the world over her shoulders. Tears of pain and suffering unleashed as she cried for him.

This broke Damian's heart, he came closer and held her gently.

"Why... How... How did it happen?" she asked.

So he started telling her everything that had happened.

* * *

_**Flat & Flat lawyers office, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

As the days went by, things began to settle down and Wayne Enterprises' lawyers got a lot to deal with.

First, they were able to prove fraud regarding the Stock Exchange incident. Wayne's bankruptcy was declared unfounded and the sentence was annulled. So, Bruce's finances were restored and everything had finally been sorted out, even with him legally declared dead.

Second, Wayne Enterprises started to be charged by a series of accusations – from financial, moral and material damage to radioactive environmental harm, undergoing by negligence and even manslaughter. As the reactor turned into nuke had been a device built by the company, many people and institutions – particularly other rival companies – were in search of the possibility of repairing and financial compensation. Miranda Tate – as its former and estranged chairman – had been chosen as their scapegoat and she probably must respond for a number of crimes. No one seemed to mind the fact that the woman was tied to a hospital bed due her efforts to save the city.

And in third place, there was Bruce Wayne's will. And that was why a small group had gathered in a lawyer's office for the reading of the bequests.

Damian quietly slipped into the office just as the lawyer was getting to the meat of the matter. He spotted Alfred sitting on a chair soberly.

The old butler gave a small smile and nodded when he saw the kid getting into the room. Damian took a seat next to him and shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place. He didn't know why he was called to be there.

"Mr. Wayne's will was not amended to reflect his erstwhile more modest estate," the lawyer said. "Half of his fortune is left to Alfred J. Pennyworth, including the entirely Wayne estate, the house, the grounds and its contents."

_Good_, Damian thought. He knew the old butler more than deserved whatever was left over. Alfred had given his all to the Wayne family – and then some.

"The other half are left to the city of Gotham, on condition that it be used for one purpose and one purpose only: the establishment of a place of housing and care of the city's at-risk and orphaned children."

* * *

_**Insert cut, Home for children, Downtown, Gotham City**_

_A school bus pulled up in front a newly remodeled ancient building, only a few days after the movers had delivered the brand-new bunk beds. An elderly man was watching as the bus disgorged dozens of wide-eyed children, who gazed in awe at the huge edifice._

_The adults in charge gathered the children, and shepherded them toward the open front doors, past a freshly-erected sign bearing the new name of the household._

_**THE THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE HOME FOR CHILDREN**_

_Alfred suspected his former employers would approve._

_**End of insert cut**_

* * *

_**Flat & Flat lawyers office, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

"My clerk will help anyone with the smaller correspondences and instructions…" the lawyer announced and stood, gathering up his papers.

People began to file out of the office, now that the bulk of fortune had been disposed of. The attorney gestured toward a desk in the corner, where a friendly woman sat beside a small collection of miscellaneous envelopes, knick-knacks, and minor items of little value.

Damian figured that was where he came in. The clerk smiled at him as he approached the desk. He looked at her in disbelief.

_There must be some kind of mistake_, he thought. _How could I have been included in his will?_

"Name?" she asked

"Damian John Blake," he answered, vacillating. He was still a kid on justice's radar and feared anything related to legal stuff because he could be sent to an institution for underaged people.

The clerk flipped some paper sheets again before looking at Damian.

"Here it is." She reached behind the desk and sorted through various items. After a moment, she handed him a small carton box. He hefted it, more confused than ever.

_What the hell is this all about?_

"Thank you," he told her and stepped away the desk, wondering what was in the box. He was tempted to open it right away, but decided against it. Wayne was gone, but Damian still felt obliged to protect his secrets. He owed the man that much.

* * *

_**Rebuilt Wayne Enterprise's Applied Sciences Division, Wayne Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Applied Sciences was back in business.

Fox had spent months repairing the damage from Bane's invasion – and beefing up the security – but the underground armory looked as good as new, as did the new and remaining prototypes. Lucius intended to keep a close watch on his inventory, just in case they were ever needed again.

At the moment, a pair of technicians was inspecting the last surviving version of the Bat. The original prototype had been vaporized over the ocean, months ago, but Fox had salvaged a variant model whose components had survived Bane's incursion. The techs were running a systems analysis from the cockpit. Both had passed a rigorous background check before being allowed anywhere near the premises.

"Why worry about the stabilization software?" the senior tech asked impatiently. "This whole autopilot system's obsolete."

"Please," Lucius said. "I just need to know what I could've done to fix it."

The junior technician gave him a puzzled look.

"But, Mr. Fox, it's already been fixed." He called up a diagnostic display on the instrument panel. "Software patch…six months ago."

Six months ago?

"Check the user ident on the patch," Fox suggested. _Who on Earth?_

The tech keyed in the request. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Huh? Bruce Wayne."

_Bruce?_

Lucius stepped away from the aircraft, trying to conceal his reaction. An idea began to form in his mind, as clearly as an engineering diagram.

A weight slowly lifted from his shoulders.

_Well, as I live and breathe…_


	46. Ch44Legacy

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This fic is coming to its end, but I kept an easter egg to my next post. So stay tuned for more and post a review, PLEASE!_

* * *

**XXXXIV - Legacy**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The yellow taxi pulled up in front of the Wayne Manor gates. Damian paid the driver and stepped out of the car, shifting his gaze from the Manor stairway to the paper envelope he held in his hand.

As he made his way toward the front door, he remembered staring in confusion at the box's contents left to him – a small container used in scientific research with a sample of Bruce's DNA and a small letter with instructions.

According to the results of the lab – which Damian put the sample and another of his own to undergo a test – he was indeed the son of Bruce Wayne and so, the last heir of Wayne patrimony. He didn't care about the money but he was truly happy that he finally found his true heritage and could share a connection with that great man.

The letter still had some kind of code in the form of musical notes he was not able to fully understand. He hoped Mr. Pennyworth could help him with that.

He rang the bell at the front entrance and was welcomed by the attentive butler, who already had learned about the lad's true origin. He was astonished by the news but, at the same time, eager to know Damian better.

The kid told him about the letter and the older man understood what it all meant. He led Damian to the study and showed him an old piano. He played a key combination comprised of three, two-note chords, starting three octaves above middle-C. The keys he pressed were D-E, D-E – up an octave –, and G-A.

Suddenly a secret entrance was open amid a wooden bookcase, exposing a hidden elevator. Damian's eyes looked everything in awe. Alfred motioned his head toward the entrance.

"Go ahead," he encouraged.

Puzzled, the teenager took the elevator and descended into the caverns beneath Wayne Manor.

_Okay, Wayne, _he thought. _Let's see what this is all about._

The elevator stopped in a level which appeared to be deep into the earth and he faced an impressive and huge dark space. The sight was overwhelming.

Apprehension warred with excitement. His father had led him here for a reason. Damian sensed he was on the verge of finding out why. He ventured cautiously into the dark, going closer to what appeared to be a waterfall.

The bats were everywhere, screeching in the dark. Damian crouched defensively as their wings and bodies swirled around him like a living cyclone. An instinctive sense of panic bubbled up inside him, but he forced it back down.

He knew why his father had brought him here.

Bats were more than symbols of fear. In Gotham, they had come to stand for hope and justice and a legend that was bigger than just one man. A hero who could be anyone. He raised his head as the bats welcomed him to their abode.

He rose over some kind of lift platform and was swallowed up by the darkness of their wings.

Batman had handed him the keys of his kingdom. He had entrusted his legacy to his true heir, his successor. His son.

* * *

_**Major Crimes Unit Rooftops, Gotham City**_

Commissioner Gordon stepped out onto the roof, making his nightly escape from the hubbub of the department. In the aftermath of the Bane incident, and given his part in saving Gotham, the Harvey Dent scandal had been quickly forgotten. Gordon figured he had the job for life – if he wanted it.

_Along with the workload_. He carted a stack of arrest reports under his arm.

Life was getting back to normal, but he wanted to stay on top of things. Bane had taught them all not to become complacent. There was always a storm brewing somewhere, and you never knew when or where the next one might hit. Gordon had no intention of being caught off-guard again.

Especially now that he was on his own and was facing the challenge of recapturing the Blackgate inmates who had been released by Bane.

He banged the files against the air duct to straighten them. His gaze drifted across the familiar rooftop, then came to an abrupt stop.

His jaw dropped, and he forgot all about the arrest reports.

The shattered searchlight had been repaired. A brand-new bat-symbol, freshly cast in gleaming steel, was mounted atop an unbroken glass lens.

Stepping over to it – hesitantly, as if afraid it might vanish – he ran his fingers reverently along the outline of the emblem. Then he stared up at the night sky, looking for a sign.

Perhaps he wasn't on his own after all.

* * *

_**At a cafe in Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

It was early evening in Florence, Italy. The last sunrays were still shining up the red ceramic rooftops. A newspaper under his arm, Alfred strolled down to his favorite cafe. He sat down at his usual table.

He was alone again, since the newest resident of the mansion was spending some time with his mother in Switzerland.

"Solo questo?(1)" the waiter asked.

"Sì,(2)" Alfred answered. "Fernet-Branca, per favore.(3)" He settled in for another quiet evening by the Arno.

Alfred sipped the drink, taking his time. Sparkling laughter and conversation drew his attention to a young family seated one table over. A recurring fantasy tugged painfully at his heart, and he couldn't resist peeking at their faces.

They were strangers, of course.

They always were.

He finished his drink, folded his paper and took out his wallet. A familiar sense of melancholy came over him as he faced another long night of guilt and regret. Happier people laughed a few tables over. Bracing himself for yet another painful disappointment, he glanced over at an all smiles trio – who were not strangers at all. They were engaged in a spirited conversation.

Bruce smiled at Alfred, looking more relaxed and at peace than the old man would have thought possible.

After a moment, Alfred nodded back at him, knowing that nothing more needed to be said. Bruce turned back to his companions – a lovely brunette wearing an exquisite necklace and a handsome teenager, who bore a distinct resemblance of both adults.

He paid his bill, leaving the waiter a generous tip, and departed with a spring in his step. But he didn't look back.

He didn't mind if it was a delusion, a dream or not. He was just happy that his longtime employer had finally found peace.

**THE END?**

* * *

**Translations:  
**

**(1) **_Is that all?**  
**_

**(2)**_ Yes**  
**_

**(3) **_Fernet-Branca, please.**  
**_


	47. Bonus - The Day Of Reckoning

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Here we go. A bonus chapter. Hope you guys like. __Again, __there will be some little bad language, adults making 'adult stuff' and a little bit of fluffiness and namby-pamby, so be warned. I also changed the fic image. I thought this new one would fit better. Anyway, let me know what you think about the change, about this chapter and about the story in general._  


* * *

**Bonus Chapter - The Day Of Reckoning**

_**Tate's Manor, Caux, Canton of Vaud, Switzerland**_

The Spring had come with all its force, colors and perfumes, bringing the life's renewal and leaving behind all the Winter's storms and tribulations.

Talia and Damian had left Gotham a few weeks ago and were trying to adjust themselves to their new family routine. Mother and son had been through hell and came out of there with their bond strengthened. They believed it could only get better from now on. Everything would be alright. They would make work, living one day at a time.

If things had not gone the way they did, Gotham citizens' blood would have been on her hands, as if she had not already enough. The fear and dread, the sickening guilt rising from the pit of her gut, the notion of having almost killed an entire city was still haunting her.

She knew soon she would need to return to Gotham to face the charges that had been submitted against her. Until that day would come, she hoped to recover the lost time with her son and just enjoy motherhood and a more domestic life.

Thanks to her legal contacts, now she was Damian's temporary guardian and as such decisions had to be made. He was not a little child anymore, but she wanted to guide him and his choices about the future as better as possible.

On that particular day, she was alone in the enormous house. Madame Montolieu – the governess and Tates' oldest employee, who was the sole remnant of the staff that existed when the other family members had been still alive – was on her day off. And Damian was spending the day all by himself, strolling around Montreux. She was able to understand that sometimes he needed his time alone. So, she was spending her day to dedicate to one of her favorite hobbies – gardening.

There was a stunning greenhouse at the Manor's yard. She enjoyed the way the sun warmed her body and the way the earth felt between her fingers.

Talia had always loved being in nature, particularly the kind that lent itself to quiet, long-term observation. If she could she would spend the rest of her life in a garden of her own, far away from people, tending to the quietly growing plants. Somehow, there was a sense of peace in places such as that.

Brushing aside a lock hair from her face, she stared at a rare blue flower – a species of Himalayan poppy. Most of the plants in the greenhouse were flowering ones but that one was very special. She touched the bird necklace lightly. A hint of nostalgia took over and Talia wished things would had been different.

She and Damian were still coping with their losses. Both knew what it was like to be torn from someone you loved dearly.

_Damian..._

For years, Talia had hoped, but never had guessed, that she would see her son again. Her only connection to the child was a peculiar golden necklace with a bird pendant – a robin –, which had been bundled up in blankets with the baby shortly after he had been born.

Talia would be lying if she didn't admit that she went through a great deal of self-doubt and regret in the years following her decision for adoption. She remembered considering other options very briefly, when she had learned she was pregnant, but she couldn't deny her baby a chance to have his own life. Through the years since his birth, she often thought about her child, wondering where he was, what he looked like, what kind of person he had become, and even, would he still alive?

She was feeling very blessed that all these questions have now been answered and even more blessed because that kid and she were becoming friends.

She had given birth to him, and his adoptive parents had raised him, but this teenager had made a place for himself in this world. He had had a right to his life and to become the kind of person he was. She had loved that baby so much. All she had wanted what was the best for him.

A soft sound rustled in the distance. Wiping away a single tear from her cheek, she did not stir.

_He came back early_, she thought and kept trimming some frayed leaves.

Even though she had not heard footsteps sounds, she was able to sense his presence behind her.

"Hi, chère! Your tour wasn't good enough?" she said, without looking back. "I wasn't expecting you til' late afternoon."

"Hi, Miranda," a deep male voice came from behind her, "or should I call you 'Talia'," he added, stressing the last word.

With heart pounding, she turned slowly, astonished to see Bruce in flesh. Her eyes examined him from top to bottom. He was dressing an expensive-looking, well-cut Italian suit. His hair was a little bit longer than he usually had worn and he was keeping a Hollywoodian facial hair type.

At that instant, she realized she was wearing an old jeans and a large shirt. Not that her appearance really mattered. After all, she had no reason to want to impress him... didn't she? And certainly had no reason to want him to think of her as a desirable woman. Talia struggled to calm her churning stomach, which was threatening to betray her nervousness. The face that had been haunting her dreams, and soon after her nightmares, had not changed in almost anything. If there would be some change it was that now he seemed even more handsome and virile than she could remember, the dark look that had hypnotized her in the past remained as enticing as before.

The unbelief that had left her paralyzed soon turned into a cold shiver of fear and horror that ran through her body... and her heart.

"You!" she exclaimed in a blowing voice, making Bruce's intense look and dark eyes to sparkle in a mixture of contentment and arrogance. That gaze were quite adequate for a man who actually was the Dark Knight.

Acting on instinct, Talia got to her feet and stared at him.

"Wha-What are you doing here?" she asked, determined to take control of the situation. "What do you want?"

She had always thought his mouth was perfect – sexy – but at that moment there was nothing sexy about the way he pressed his lips as he stared at her. His words were as cold as the air of the Himalayan mountains.

"I think you know the answer for your question," he told her. "What I want, what I came looking for and what I intend to have is my son."

"Your son?" Talia had become an overprotective mother, so Bruce could not have said anything that would cause more anger in her. Fury colored her normally calm perfect skin face and her gray-blue eyes burned with the violence of her emotions.

"You're supposed to be death!" she spatted.

"Death is just the beginning of immortality," he replied, smirking. His speech looked similar to another man's she had known – his father.

"Everyone thought you're dead. Where the hell have you been?" she asked, trying to recover her focus.

"Enjoying death," he stated simply. "Where Damian is?"

"I... He's spending his day in Montreux," she confessed and turned to gather her tools, trying to escape from the weight of that gaze, which seemed to see inside her. "I think you should go. Now."

"No," he said. "We need to talk first, don't you think?"

She turned again to glare at him. For years she had tried recover herself from the marks that their relationship had impressed in her, but that experience had made her lose faith in men.

_Is it normal to love and hate someone at the same time?_

"I hate you."

Bruce shrugged.

"I know," he agreed and took a few steps forward. "But it isn't what it looked like when you were making love to me and leaving me almost completely breathless. You didn't need to act like a slut. You already had everything under control."

Talia slapped him in his face. But that did not affect him. He kept speaking calmly and with resolution.

"Did you plan to destroy me, didn't you? Did you think I was completely stupid? I must admit it was a master stroke. The deceit level you've reached is impressive."

"Get the hell out of my house," she yelled impatiently.

"I see," he said, without moving. "Everything was just a game. A trap. You hated me and wanted to punish me. You must have laughed galore when I was thrown in that pit."

When he said that, something snapped inside her.

"Do you know what my worst sin has been? The thing I regret the most? It was loving you, Bruce. You're throwing at me the mistakes I've made, accusing me of having deceived you, of having acted like some wanton to get what I wanted from you. The truth is that I was a naive and recklessly silly young woman who had nobody else in all world – except a father whose only concern was his cause – and was aching so much for love that she convinced herself a man she had just met was her saviour, a hero, someone special who would lift her up out of the misery of her pain and loss and hold her safe in his arms. That was the true nature of my crime, Bruce – idolising you and turning you into something you could never or wished to be," she poured her words at a single time, then paused and muttered almost to herself:

"And dammit... I somehow... still love you. You're my child's father." She loved that man. It was ridiculous to insist on denying that.

Her speech put Bruce on the defensive.

"Love me? All you're able to prove is trusting you means nothing than to be stabbed in the back," he retorted, and for a brief moment, his gaze rested on her fondly, confusing her.

Reaching an auxiliary table, he picked up an ornate stiletto.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked, alarmed.

"Take it," he spoke, offering her the hilt.

Reluctantly, her fingers closed over the handle. Suddenly, Wayne came closer and stood before her, tearing open his shirt and exposing his chest. In one blurred move, he grabbed her fist. She tried to drop the dagger, but his grip was like steel.

"Go ahead," he proposed. "Isn't what you've always wanted?" he asked with a defiant look and then, demanded:

"Do it. Everyone thinks I'm already dead."

Tears were falling from her eyes profusely, her lips were trembling.

"I can't do it," she whispered. "All I've ever wanted is you loving me, Bruce."

He loosened his grip and she left the dagger falling to the ground.

"I didn't want to," he admitted. "I've learned that loving someone is scary. We are open to all kinds of risks and sorrows."

"I know." And how she knew! She had felt the same. "I think we should put our differences aside, for Damian's sake."

Staring deep into her blue eyes, he gently placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her. At first it was a punitive kiss, almost violent, but it soon became tender and passionate.

* * *

Moments later, they were making passionate love in the master bedroom. She was gripping his scar-covered back as he kept tasting her mouth, her neck and beyond.

His movements became faster and more determined as he drove himself into her. Meanwhile, she was nearing her climax.

Arching herself up to meet his thrusts, she called out his name as waves of pleasure exploded through her. Bruce could feel her climax as wave after wave of her pleasure swept through him. Releasing her from his grip, he drove deeper into her, a growl escaping his lips as his own release came.

When he was able to regain his own breath – with a pleased look on his face – he rested on his side immediately beside her, one hand possessively over her waist. She wanted to roll away from him, to calm the maelstrom of new thoughts and emotions whirling through her mind, but his arm, so casually yet emphatically placed across her body, prevented her from doing so.

So, she leaned over and rested her head over his chest, feeling his breathing and stroking his muscular pectoral.

"I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me," she admitted, searching his gaze... For what? Forgiveness?

Suddenly the terrible resentment that poisoned her life seemed to evaporate, leaving her empty and lost.

Seeing her in that condition, Bruce could almost understand how a woman who had loved so deeply, could have simulated, lied and got herself thrown into a plan emerged from her despair, losing all mercy along the way. Just a great love would lead a reaction so violent when being crushed.

Bruce sighed and turned sideways to face her better.

"You're not the only guilty. I'm sorry for all the harm I've caused to you. Like you said, we both hurt each other. My only hope is that you can forgive me," he admitted. "I'm probably the last person you want to see in..." his words died in his mouth.

"You're wrong," she said firmly. "When I saw you here, my heart almost jumped out of my chest. What I feel for you became even stronger when knowing how much you risked to save Gotham. I thought I'd never see you again."

He pulled her closer, kissing her. She tenderly touched his cheek.

"If there's anyone here who should apologize it's me. I judged you wrongly. I let my resentment clouding my judgment. I allowed that terrorist manipulating my feelings. I know this doesn't justify what I did and don't know how to apologize..."

"I forgive you," he interrupted her. "God," he said, giggling, "I don't even know how to call you anymore!"

She frowned, releasing from his grip and sitting up.

"My legal name is Miranda Tate. It's the name my adoptive parents gave me. Though I was already five, they insisted on changing it," she sighed and proceeded. "My real parents named me as 'Talia'. When my father, Henry... Rã's al Ghul took me under his care again, he kept the name he'd chosen for me... Anyway, for all purposes, I'm Miranda Tate."

Then, she bounced out of bed – stark naked –, deciding to go into the adjacent bathroom, leaving Bruce chilled and curious.

"I want to know everything," he shouted after her.

She turned on the shower full-blast. Steam filled the room.

"Everything about what? she asked, playing coy.

"You know about what," he said out loud in order being heard through the shower's noise. He did not want to have more secrets between them.

Minutes later, the shower stopped. With a towel around her body, she marched out of the bathroom. Doing her best to ignore him, she went her closet and picked up some clothes.

"Come on, I think I have the right to know," he pressed.

"Okay," she conceded. Then she started to tell him everything but choosing to leave outside the saddest parts of her life. She did not want him to feel sorry for her. She summarized what had happened with her real family, the time she spent under the League's teachings, what had happened after he had left, the decision to give their child up for adoption, and finally Bane's irrecusable revenge proposal.

He got a particular interest in the period she lived in Gotham. A pang of regret took over him as he imagined what their life might have been if he had not vanished.

* * *

By late afternoon, Damian was back. He entered the house in silence, without making any sound.

"Hey," Miranda said, heading toward him. "I didn't hear you come inside," she added with an uncertain smile.

_Like father, like son_, she mused.

"Hi. How was your day?" he asked all of sudden as reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Pretty good actually," she said, trying to look casual but clearly disconcerted by the question. "And what about yours?"

"No big deal. I knew a lot of new places today. But that's all," he said nonchalantly.

"Sounds like you had some fun anyway," she smiled back towards Damian.

"Beautiful city but too expensive," he added a little discouraged. "Took a walk through Promenade Fleuri and I saw Freddie Mercury's statue. Didn't know they've erected one for him."

"He was a notable resident of the city and a great artist," she remarked. "Now, how about you get yourself ready for dinner? I'm almost done."

"Do I have time for a quick shower?" he asked.

"Very quick," she responded.

"Fine."

He ran up the stairs as Miranda kept watching him.

Bruce emerged behind a wall. He lost almost sixteen years of living with his own son. At the same time as secrets from the past were revealed, he and Miranda needed to take on their roles of father and mother, trying to make the ties between all of them getting stronger.

"Soon," she told him.

* * *

Minutes later, Damian was back.

"I'm ready," he announced once he came into the dining room. No one was there, but he quickly noticed that the table was set for three.

"Mom?" he called her, puzzled.

As he stood at the threshold to the room, Miranda showed up, wrapping him gently in her arms.

"Here, sweetheart. Come," she said as she led him toward the main living room.

"What's up?" he asked, curious.

"I know your birthday is just a few weeks from now," she started with an enigmatic smile on her face, "but I think you deserve an early gift."

"You don't need to..." he protested but was soon interrupted by her.

"Believe me, you're gonna love it."

When they reached the room, they were met with Bruce's haughty figure. Damian froze and blinked several times to make sure the man stood before him was not an illusion, but real.

Trembling with emotion, Damian stood facing Bruce.

"Mr. Wayne?" he asked softly.

"Guess we don't need to be so formal, don't you think?" the older man asked, grinning. He approached the kid slowly, unsure of what to do.

Damian quickened his pace and went to him. His father.

Miranda followed her son, slowly at first, not daring to break the spell of the moment. Then Bruce, embraced his son, looked at her and smiled.

_Thank you_, he mouthed to her.

Miranda hugged them both. The three remained like this for a while. Embraced, laughing and crying at the same time.

That kid was a piece of them and had been away from their lives for a long time. Now they all were together. As it should have been since the beginning.

"I don't know how you feel about all this mess," Bruce started, gently dislodging himself from their embrace. There was a hint of trepidation in his voice. "I do know that I could never replace your adoptive father, the man who raised you. But I wanna try to be a father to you. I'll do my best to..." his voice trailed off.

"I know," the kid declared touched and hugged him again.

Miranda looked at her two favorite men in the whole world. Her heart swelled to look at them both. It was time to leave the past behind. They had a whole future ahead. However, she still had not had time to talk to Bruce about it, to make plans. She loved him. Had always loved him – even when she strongly believed that she hated him – but she did not know if a future together would be possible. Memories were fading but the scars were still lingering.

She had an acute awareness the decision they would make at that moment would affect their son for the rest of their lives.

The truth, in her opinion, was that children, in a general way, were happier when their parents had a stable relationship, both committed to their welfare. A mother and a father working as a team. She, more than most people, knew the damage which a child was exposed to when parents were not present.

She just hoped Bruce would think the same way.

* * *

_**At a cafe in Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

Days after, the new-found family of three were enjoying some good time in the birthplace of the Renaissance.

Bruce had chosen that place to celebrate Damian's birthday with only one purpose in mind – reviewing an old friend. He led them to a cafe along the Arno in order to have their dinner. Damian was amazed at all the mouthwatering delights that were available to him.

If people around them knew everything Bruce had endured to reach that moment they would ask him about what he was thinking. How could he let that happen after the woman beside him had almost ruined his life? But he was not the most important person in that story.

What had happened now belonged to the past. Damian was happy and Bruce wished him to remain so.

That kid was the living proof he and Miranda had loved each other, body and soul. His heart was filled with his paternal joy.

While waiting for the waiter to bring their selections, Bruce spotted a very familiar face in the crowd. The old butler looked like sad and gloomy as he sat down and ordered a drink. His heart sunk when he saw his kind of surrogate father.

Moments later, Alfred realized their presence. Bruce smiled and nodded at him.

After a moment, Alfred nodded back at him, looking relieved. Both men knew nothing more had to be said.

So, Bruce turned back to his companions. Damian was telling them about a Great Dane he had saw early at a pet adoption fair. The kid was trying to persuade his mother they should have a dog – more precisely that dog. He turned to Bruce to help him there.

Meanwhile, Alfred paid his bill and departed without looking back.

They would meet again. But not yet. Only when fate would decree Bruce would take the mantle of Dark Knight once again.


	48. Letter To Readers

Hi, everyone.

I'm a long time fanfiction reader and _Full Circle_ was the first of my creation. At first, my intention was to make a story beggining from the point TDKR ended, taking as its starting point the Bruce/Selina scene at the cafe in Florence. He would be compelled to return to Gotham in order to train and help Blake facing new challenges. Amid these ideas, I would make a brief recap with some slight modifications which concerned Rã's/ Bane/ Talia past and she would be a more complex character, not just an unidimensional villain that was only there to protagonize the plot twist. Anyway, basically it would be a sequel of TDKR not a retelling.

Well, when a put my hands on the script and on the novelization, I realized that I didn't like John Blake character at all — for a number of reasons which I'm not gonna enumerate right now.

Then I have an idea — why not retell TDKR but a little different? Why don't put a real Robin anyway? He's a significant presence in Batman's universe and I've never understand why people dislike him. Why don't create an ultimate version of him who would assemble characteristics from all major Robins (I know that somehow Blake's movie portrayal was something like that)? And going further, why don't bring Damian Wayne/Robin to the story?

So this was how _Full Circle_'s initial idea was born. I want to create a character who was the connecting link between all others and could replace Robin John Blake. Unfortunately, I had to cut off Catwoman (with pain in my heart, because I loved Hathaway's characterization and IMO she was the best thing in the movie, soever her initial motivations were a little silly) from the story in order to have Damian fitting in it.

To bring things full circle I chose as main themes: pain (both emotional and physical), vegeance, legacy and redemption. I've tried to make these themes resound through all the main characters.

Bruce had begun his journey losing his family, learning the difference between revenge and justice, being an apprentice under Rã's al Ghul's leadership and embracing the darkness. Why not finish his story making him mature and leaving his pain behind, recovering his family, assuming the role of mentor of Rã's al Ghul's grandchild (an also his own son) and rising toward the light?

I have to admit I'm a Bruce-Talia shipper (much because I'm a huge fan of the clan al Ghul), but I also ship Bruce-Selina, Bruce-Diana (Wonder Woman) and a plethora of OC's that pop up everytime here in FFnet — since, of course, the story is well done and well written, why not?

Talia's portrait was probably what most disappointed me in TDKR much because I've been waiting to see her since _Begins_. Even so she revealed being a villain at the end, I've expected her character to be torn between her love (or at least fondness) for Bruce and her loyalties to Ra's and the League. It would certainly add more depth and dimension to her. But instead of it, she was showed having zero good feelings towards Bruce.

Seemingly, Christopher Nolan's original plan was to have only one female character (because in some interviews they say that Nolan didn't want Catwoman first and Jonah Nolan has to fight tooth and nail to convince his brother including her) and my guess is they had to split the characterization when it was decided to have two female characters instead. So, IMHO, Talia's debut in the movies lost out.

In my fic, I've tried to keep her basic characteristics from comics (and other medias she had appeared) and make her a woman full of contradictions who could be able to fit in Nolanverse.

I sincerely hope you all had enjoyed reading as much as I had writing this story. I'm planning a sequel and already have a writer's notebook filled with ideas but this will depend on readers' response. I know in Nolanverse the Bruce-Talia pairing has not much appealing as Bruce-Selina but I do believe there is one for every taste.

Finally, let me know what you guys think. I'm open to suggestions and comments.

All my best,

GrayLadyOfTheSea


	49. Warning

THE SEQUEL IS UP !

Just in case anyone who wants to read the sequel to "Full Circle" and didn't realize that it's already up!

I hope you'll like my second Dark Knight/Batman fic as much as the first.

All my best,

GrayLadyOfTheSea


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